Dead Men Tell No Tales
by TraSan
Summary: Sam and Dean head to Disneyland, but the happiest place on earth is hiding a deadly secret. People are disappearing and now the brothers are caught in the middle. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

The Happiest Place on Earth

**The Happiest Place on Earth**

**Disclaimer: **They aren't mine, which is a pity really. I was going to haul them about and take them on a road trip to visit all of you.

**Beta'd: **By the irreplaceable Wysawyg. She made it so much better than it might otherwise have been.

**Timeline: **Season three between _The Kids Are Alright_ and _Bad Day at Black Rock. _Minor spoilers, but probably nothing more than you could have figured out from watching AHBL and AHBL2.

…………………………………………………………**Chapter One**………………………………………………………

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Dean complained. He squinted against the morning sun and took off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving only his green Henley.

"I didn't talk you into anything, Dean," Sam replied, pushing sweaty bangs off his forehead. "I knew it would be impossible for you to resist a pirate ghost." Sam smiled wide, dimples appearing.

Dean returned his brother's smile and clapped him on the back. "Come on, it's pirates! Who could? I just didn't realize pirates included a large side-serving of cotton candy family fluff." He shuddered and made a noise of disgust. Sam puffed a laugh in return, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sam was on to him. He didn't know how Sam knew about his feelings after spending time with Lisa and Ben, but he did.

The sounds of children's laughter, far off screaming and merry music filled the air in an odd combination of childish delight and terror. The buzz of people's voices blended together as a tempo for the atmosphere. However, the hardest part of the whole experience for Dean was the knowledge that while he may never have seriously considered starting a family in the past, it was no longer even a possibility.

Several months from now, he'd be gone and he couldn't do that to a child. He couldn't leave him alone and unprotected in a world he knew was filled with danger. He gave Sam a sidelong glance and took note of the concerned look on his little brother's face until he caught Dean looking at him and the look vanished. A leaden pit settled in Dean's stomach and he pushed aside all doubts about the wisdom of his decision. A family wasn't part of where his life was headed. He just couldn't do that to another kid.

"You know, I always wanted to come here when we were kids," Sam stated wistfully. He chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling at his inner musings. "Can you imagine Dad here? I think he would have gone ballistic the first time you tried to exorcise Tinkerbell."

"She was actually pretty hot for a three inch tall pixie girl," Dean said, ignoring Sam's huff in response. He took his brother's silent acceptance of a change of topic for the gift that it was.

Sam had been very accommodating the last few weeks, but Dean had no doubt that Sam would break out of his self-imposed restraint and start forcing him to talk about the deal sooner rather than later. When he did, Dean would no longer be able to ignore the inevitable. So, for the moment, he was willing to pretend everything was fine if it would forestall the conversation he dreaded having with his little brother.

He trudged beside Sam past a lemonade stand and suddenly the frozen, slushy drink sounded like a little slice of heaven. He stopped and sifted through his wallet, counting money. Five bucks for a friggin' eight ounce drink? And here he thought they made their money on the cost of admission. "Got any change, Sam?"

Sam's smile was enigmatic as he reached around to grab his wallet. "Two please," Sam instructed the sun-kissed blonde manning the stand. Dean smirked when Sam notched up his smile to double dimples, dipping his eyes to her nametag than meeting her gaze. "Just how hot is it supposed to get today, Melissa?"

"Ugh, I know, the heat is unbearable," Melissa replied, leaning closer to Sam and placing a perfectly manicured hand over his. "I can't believe it is still so hot. I think the report this morning said a high of one hundred and two degrees."

Dean shook his head at the slight blush climbing up Sam's neck. He honestly did not seem to have a clue how his smile and puppy dog eyes affected women. It was such a waste of natural talent that he really should clue his brother in. However, that wasn't his style. "That's still not as hot as you," Dean interjected, leaning on the counter.

Melissa's face turned a strawberry blush color and she looked from one brother to the other, her smile widening. "You know, if I wasn't stuck working this booth until three, I'd show you around. Take you behind the scenes."

"Well, Sammy here has a date with some time-share suits," Dean replied, jerking his thumb in Sam's direction. "But I'd be happy to swing by at three and take you up on your offer."

"Wonderful!" Melissa gushed. She turned to Sam and offered him a small, apologetic smile.

Dean steadfastly ignored Sam's glare and turned his back slightly to his brother. "My name's, Dean, by the way."

"I'm Melissa." She laughed and glanced down at her nametag before looking back up at Dean. "Though I guess you figured that one out already." She handed Dean his frozen lemonade and turned to fix Sam's.

Sam muttered something under his breath and Dean looked over his shoulder at him. "Got something to say, Sammy?"

"Nothing I can repeat in public," Sam growled. His expression softened when Melissa handed him his drink. "Thanks." He smiled at her before slapping Dean on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Dean ignored him and smiled at Melissa upping his charm to full wattage. "I'll be back at three."

"I'm looking forward to it," Melissa replied. "Oops, gotta go. There's a line forming behind you."

"Catch you later." Dean lifted his hand to clap Sam on the back, but changed his mind when he saw the faint line of sweat forming. "Come on, Sam, let's hit it."

Sam didn't reply, but fell into line beside his brother. They hadn't walked more than fifteen paces before a teenage girl, busily texting on her phone, slammed into Sam. He juggled his lemonade, nearly losing his grip on the expensive, glorified slushy drink. The girl did not even look up from her phone to apologize before she quickly disappeared into the sea of people. Dean chuckled and Sam snapped, "I don't know which is worse, the equatorial heat or the crowds."

Dean stepped to the side to avoid a harried father surrounded by a gaggle of young girls. "When did you become so anti-social, Sammy?"

"It may have escaped your notice while you were flirting with the lemonade stand lady, but we're here to do a job." Sam brushed wet bangs off his forehead. His previously grinning face now curled in a pout.

Dean offered his brother a lop-sided smirk by way of response. He had it figured it out. Sam always had been a cranky kid when he was too hot. He remembered one time when Sam was four and they had been driving through New Mexico in August. The tears, the pouting, the shouting – and that had just been Dad. Sammy had been a nearly unbearable brat. "You know, if you weren't dressed in thirty layers of cotton you'd probably be a little less cranky."

Sam scrunched his face in confusion. "What are you talking about, Dean?" He veered left around the Louisiana style restaurant and down towards the line for the ride. Dean shook his head, but didn't reply. He stepped around his little brother and over the dividers while Sam filed through the maze of rope. "Seriously, Dean, what are you talking about?"

A chuckle was the only response as Dean moved ahead of Sam at the corner. "You snooze, you lose, little brother," he laughed at Sam's disapproving look.

"Sir, the safest route to the ride is through the designated entrance," a petite, brunette with a pony-tail suggested, gesturing back the way Sam had entered.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's smug look and smiled at the young employee. "Sweetheart, safe ain't exactly my style."

The brunette smiled and gestured them inside. "Enjoy the ride, gentlemen," she said, perkily. "Don't be afraid of the swashbucklers."

"Oh, don't worry about us," Dean replied with a grin. He stood smiling at the attendant until a strong jerk on his collar forced him to follow his brother into the loading area. "Take it easy, Sammy. We have time to enjoy this a little bit. It's not like we get to kick back in the land of the normals very often. This may be one of my last chances to mingle."

Sam winced nearly imperceptibly, but Dean caught it and mentally kicked himself. He had managed to pull Sam away from his thoughts about the deal less than fifteen minutes ago and here he was bringing it up again. What was wrong with him? "What's with the sudden aversion to fun? Why are we here, if you don't want to be?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I do want to be here, Dean, it's just…never mind."

Dean noticed the look of concern Sam carried in his eyes during unprotected moments reappear than just as quickly disappear behind hazel shutters. Sam smiled when the door to the final loading area opened and a refreshing underground breeze shot past them. Dean smirked and shook his head. Maybe the cool air would restore his little brother to his normal self. His smile slowly faded. It had been awhile since he had seen Sam as his normal self and he wanted to know Sam would be okay, before it was too late.

Fingers snapping in his line of vision forced Dean's focus to the forefront. "Earth to Dean," his little brother chirped. It seemed Dean hadn't lost his ability to read all things Sammy. A hot Sam was a cranky Sam. The cool air had revived his little brother almost instantaneously. Dean slapped Sam's hand away.

"Shaddup," Dean said good-naturedly. He shot past Sam along the wooden boardwalk and to the line of people waiting to get on the boats. Sam caught up to him in an instant, his longer legs bridging the distance in record time.

"The spirit has been spotted in the pirate village and in the Louisiana swamp," Sam informed him in a hushed voice. "Reports from witnesses say he appears in pirate garb and pulls passengers from the boats. Officials at the park say the passengers are standing or riding unsafely and fall from the boat."

"Sounds like the official company line meant to head off lawsuits to me," Dean quipped. He spotted a harried mother of two attempting to coral two young boys into line. He put up a hand to stop the older of the two boys from ducking past him. "Hey, listen to your mom, kiddo, and get into line. You're lucky she even brought you here."

His command stopped the young child cold and he stared up at Dean with round eyes before turning around and running back to his mother. She shot Dean a grateful look and his little brother chortled behind him.

"That tone always worked on me too," Sam remarked. "That time I wanted to stay in Indiana to go to the lake party after Dad took care of the poltergeist? You said, 'Sammy, you're lucky you got to finish out the school year. Now pack your crap and get ready to leave.'" Sam paused and chuckled softly. "I was pissed you took Dad's side, but I didn't argue. I packed my stuff and waited for you in the Impala."

"I wish I had figured that out," Dean muttered. "Would have saved me a lot of trouble later on."

"Why do you think I was careful not to let on?" Sam replied. The line moved ahead as another group of tourists boarded the ride. They were only ten people back in line now. "So, uh, anyway, apparently people dumping ashes on this ride, 'Haunted Mansion' and 'It's a Small World' are nothing new. They've kept it pretty quiet until now, but the rash of accidents has drawn people here in even larger numbers than the Johnny Depp face-lift the ride got two years ago."

"Nothing draws a crowd faster than danger," Dean replied tersely. "If these people understood they were risking their lives, their family's lives…" he trailed off when he realized his angry rant was drawing unwanted attention and he lowered his voice. "I thought you said someone died – a Thomas somebody?"

"Cobb," Sam supplied. "He disappeared off the ride and his body was found three days later in one of the water recycling ducts by an employee. That was last Thursday." Sam nodded at the employee who gestured them into a waiting boat and stepped on board. He walked across to the far side and sat down. "Officials at the park are keeping it very quiet."

"My seat's wet," Dean grumbled. "Switch."

"What?" Sam looked up at his brother incredulously. "No."

"Come on," Dean insisted, waving his arm to gesture his brother to move over. "Switch."

"No. I'm not ten, Dean," Sam said. "That's not going to work anymore."

Dean nodded and turned to the woman with the two boys instead. "Would you and your boys like to sit between Sam and me? We can help you keep them in their seats."

"Really?" The woman asked, her brown eyes registering relief. "Are you sure it won't be a problem?"

"No problem," Dean reassured her, throwing Sam a satisfied smirk before stepping to the side to allow one of the boys to sit down next to his brother. "My name's Dean."

"Saundra," the dark, curly-haired woman replied. She sighed and sat down next to her boys. "I appreciate your help. My husband is sick at the hotel today. I think he was out in the sun too long yesterday."

"Sam just gets cranky," Dean stage-whispered. He rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. Saundra laughed and turned to buckle in her sons.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam hissed.

"Talking to Saundra," Dean replied. He leaned closer to his brother and his lips turned in a lop-sided grin. "You do recognize what talking to a woman looks like?"

"A married woman," Sam lectured. "And all so you didn't have to sit in a wet seat?"

"I'm hurt," Dean said. "It's so we can both be in an outside seat and keep an eye on each side."

Sam pursed his lips and tilted his head marginally. "That's actually a good idea."

"You don't need to sound so surprised," Dean stated. "I'm the oldest – all my ideas are good." The comment earned him an eye roll from his little brother.

"Sir, if you would please sit down, we can start the ride," a young, clean-shaven man with an unnaturally wide smile said, pointing to Dean's still empty seat.

"Sure, no problem," Dean said. He squeezed past the boys and sat down next to Saundra. He tapped a hand on the side railing of the boat and started humming under his breath.

One of the boys leaned over his mother and tapped Dean on the leg. "Sing it," he demanded.

"What's that kiddo?" Dean asked, his face screwing up in confusion.

Saundra laughed. "Justin wants you to sing the words."

Dean leaned forward and looked around Saundra at Justin. "I will, if you will."

The boys bounced in their seats and clapped their hands. The boat started moving and Dean joined the boys who were already singing enthusiastically and slightly off-key. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."

Sam shook his head, made eye contact with Saundra and shrugged.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The boat quietly slipped through the doors into the shadowy attraction – the only noise the singing boys in the third boat. Mechanical frogs croaked and crickets chirped as the boat drifted through the Louisiana bayou. The boats slowed slightly at the entrance to dark, underground ride. A loud, recorded voice boomed, "It be too late to alter course, mateys, and there be plundering pirates lurking in every cove. Dead men tell no tales."

The boat dipped sharply, splashing water on many of the passengers. A small hand fisted in Sam's shirt and he wrapped an arm around the boy sitting next to him. The boats continued past a treasure cave before encountering the pirate ships.

An ethereal specter hovered on the deck of the pirate ship, listening as the passengers sailed by. His ghostly gray lips curled in an unnatural smile when his hollow eyes fell on a strong, young man in one of the boats. He would be perfect.

Sam chuckled, amused by his brother's ability to let go of the hunter personae and relate to kids so easily. His chuckle died away as it struck him that he would never really get to see Dean like this with his own family. As the father he could have been, the strong, caring man he should have been able to share with a family.

If he really thought about it, this was the Dean who had so often carried more than his fair share of the family burden growing up, the Dean who was his big brother. This was the brother who had kept the monsters away when their dad was gone. The brother who taught him how to hotwire a car, who defended him against school yard bullies and who forged their father's signature on field trip permission slips. Later, he was the brother whom he had caught watching him sleep after Jessica died and the brother who had literally given his life for him.

Sam swallowed convulsively. He couldn't imagine his life without his brother in it and he didn't want to. He needed to save his brother, no matter what it took. He just wanted Dean to live. Was that really so much to ask for? He tensed his jaw and gritted his teeth in determination. He would find a way to get Dean out of that deal if it killed him.

He blinked back his feelings and smiled wistfully as his brother entered the third round of singing. He found his arms full of startled seven-year-old when the first pirate cannons fired with a resounding boom. "Hey, hey, it'll be okay," Sam reassured him. "It's just sound effects, there aren't any cannons."

"Really?" the boys asked, looking up at Sam with tear-filled brown eyes. "Justin said the pirates would get us and lock us in the brig of the ghost ship."

"Justin was wrong," Sam said, wrapping an arm around the small boy's back. "You're safe."

"Thanks," Saundra said, offering Sam a small smile. "Jacob was a little afraid of the Pirate movies and Justin likes to tease him about it."

"That's big brothers for you," Sam stated. He caught sight of movement over the top of Saundra's head. "Dean, Dean what are you doing? Sit down."

He couldn't make out what Dean was muttering, but he didn't sit down. He continued to stand and gaze out through the machine generated fog. Sam leaned closer to his brother, squishing Jacob and Justin between him and their mother. He could almost make out what Dean was saying.

"Dean, come on man, sit down," Sam commanded. Dean turned around to face him and Sam gasped. Dean's expression was vacant; his eyes empty of all emotion.

Sam felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down on Jacob's fear-stricken face. "Are the pirates going to get Dean?"

"No," Sam reassured him hurriedly, before turning his attention back to Dean.

"They need me," Dean intoned. He started to turn back towards the water and Sam leapt to his feet and snagged Dean's arm.

"Sit. Down. Dean." Sam scanned his brother's face looking for a sign that his brother heard him, but Dean continued to stare at him with hollow eyes.

"They need me," he repeated.

Sam could hear the boys crying, but he couldn't spare any of his attention right now. Saundra would have to handle them on her own. "Dean, no," Sam insisted, pulling harder on Dean's arm trying to get him to respond. His eyes frantically scanned the darkness, but he didn't even see a glimpse of anything unusual. "Sit down."

Dean slowly shook his head no. Sam felt another tug on his arm and looked back over his shoulder, but no one was there this time. He could feel the icy grip on his wrist, but he couldn't see anyone and he knew they were dealing with an angry spirit. He tried to jerk his arm free, but the spirit held fast.

The spirit tugged insistently on his wrist, pulling him away from Dean. Sam renewed his grip on Dean's arm and he tried to push Dean to sit down with one arm, while simultaneously trying to free his other arm from the spirit.

"The pirate is getting Dean!" Justin cried. Sam could hear the fear in his voice, but right now his focus was on his brother.

Dean was ripped from his grasp at the same time as he was pulled forcefully to the opposite side of the boat. His ribs hitting the rail was the only thing that stopped him from going overboard, but the pull did not ease and he felt a pop in his shoulder seconds before the pain registered. "Aaaggghhh," he groaned.

He could no longer fight back against the force pulling him towards the water. The dislocated shoulder left no strength in his arm and he bit back a curse. A loud splash on the other side of the boat caused panic to rise in his chest and he twisted until he could see Dean – or where Dean should be. His brother was no longer on the boat. "Dean!" he shouted. "Dean!"

The pull on his arm disappeared as quickly as it had started sending Sam across the boat, his tall body wedged into the tiny foot space at the bottom of the boat. His head connected with the step on the other side and Sam fought against a wave of dizziness, his vision graying. His last conscious thought was that he had failed to keep his brother safe. He only had two jobs for the next three hundred and some odd days and he had failed.

…..………………………………………………………**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: This fic was inspired by a real news article I read. A woman was caught dumping ashes on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and it is apparently not a new occurrence. The Haunted Mansion has always been a popular spot for patrons of the park to secretly scatter ashes, but recently the POTC ride has gained popularity. It was simply too much to resist: The Winchester brothers – at Disneyland. BG.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **I own not, Supernatural, Disneyland or anything affiliated with either of them. I do own FOUR dogs now though.

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg who has graciously taken time from her own writing to help me with mine. A thousand thank you's, girl! You are the best.

**A Special Thank You: **To Muffy for helping me talk like a pirate. An extra special thank you to Lori. Lori kindly offered to lend me some Disney expertise. Thank you so much for going above the call of duty, Lori.

**AN: **So, I've only ever changed the tag to a story after it was posted once before and I've NEVER changed the title once it was posted. Ever. However, I tried writing the tag at 23:30 the night I posted and nothing came to me, so I just threw it out there. When I started trying to think of a new tag I thought, "I should have just used the quote from the ride, 'Dead men tell no tales,' and left the rest out."

I thought about that for a little while and had one of those light-bulb epiphany moments. The whole blasted story should have been Dead Men Tell No Tales. The double meaning alone coupled with the fact somehow, someway, the ghosts and spirits the boys go after always seem to surrender their secrets to the Winchesters adds just a touch of irony.

Unable to resist – the title changed, the tag changed – only content remained the same.

So, if you found your way back here despite my whim, your detective skills are to be applauded. And thank you, for reading!

**Time Line: **Set between TKAA and BDABR.

….….………………………………………………**Chapter Two**…………………………………………………………….

It was the smell he noticed first. The distinctive odor of hospitals: that mix of stale air, antiseptics and the sour scent of sick. He took a mental inventory attempting to ascertain what had landed him in the hospital again. His head and his shoulder were both throbbing, one as a dull ache and the other as a sharp, piercing pain. He listened carefully for sounds of his brother nearby. He was able to pick Dean out of a crowd with his eyes closed. The realization that Dean was not in the room brought Sam to the final moment of awareness.

"Dean!" he shouted, bolting upright. His vision swam and nausea rose to the top of his throat. He sucked in deep, gulping breaths and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"He's going to be sick again, grab the emesis basin," a disembodied baritone commanded.

Sam felt a hand on his back and the basin placed in his hands. He shook his head. He didn't need the basin. He did feel sick, but it was at the thought of his brother, still lost in the dark, churning water of the ride. "Where's Dean?" he gasped. "Where's my brother?"

"Just breathe, you'll be okay," a female voice this time, her genuine concern palpable as she patted his left shoulder. Sam blinked open reluctant eyes and squinted against the bright florescent lights.

"I'm fine. Where's my brother? Where's Dean?" He looked around the room hoping to catch sight of Dean even though he knew his brother wasn't there.

"Security shut down the ride and they're looking for your brother now," the deep voice said in a derisive tone. Sam focused bleary eyes on a man not much older than Dean. He choked back a snort. The man could not be more than five foot eight and his tone and posture indicated he was trying to intimidate him.

"Not very reassuring," Sam muttered. He swung his legs off the hard exam table and cradled his head in his hands. He wouldn't be going anywhere quickly. Sam's mind churned through the facts. Cobb's body had been found approximately seventy-two hours after he'd been pulled off the boat.

The report indicated he had been dead less than twelve hours when he was found and the cause of death was strangulation. Sam glanced at his watch and tried to bring the display into focus. That gave him less than sixty hours to find Dean.

Sam pressed his hands against the table and pushed himself to standing. The room spun awkwardly on its axis before slowing to a near stand-still. "Where do you think you are going?" the shorter man demanded.

Sam rolled his eyes. _Spare me from men with Napoleon complexes._ "Look Mister…"

"Doctor," he corrected. "Dr. Spangler."

"Look, Dr. Spangler," Sam started again with an involuntary eye roll. "I'm not going to sit here while my brother is lost. He could have hit his head when he was pulled off the boat…"

"He jumped off the boat." Sam's head snapped in the direction of the new voice. He hadn't even heard the door open. A tall, dark man in a charcoal gray suit filled the doorway. "The tape clearly shows…"

"You're going to have to wait outside," Dr. Spangler said. He pointed a finger at the newcomer. "I told you, Mr. Johnson, I won't let you in here until I've completed my examination."

"I don't care what you think you saw on the tape," Sam said raising his voice and completely ignoring the pointed glare from Dr. Spangler. He straightened to his full height, leaving only his fingertips resting on the bed for balance. "Dean did not jump off the boat."

A soft grip on his arm, gently tugged him back until he was once more sitting on the exam table. "Sir, you really need to let the doctor finish his exam."

Sam turned his head to look at the brown-haired nurse standing behind him. The concerned look on her face ordinarily would have spurred him into trying to reassure her that he was fine, but he couldn't spare the time right now. _I have to help my brother. _"I can't wait."

"We're not letting you back inside," Mr. Johnson said dismissively. "And I do need to get a statement from you before you leave the hospital."

"I don't recall asking if I could leave," Sam replied, his voice dropping dangerously low.

"You," Dr. Spangler said, pointing at Johnson. "Outside until I finish my exam." He waved a hand towards the door. The large security officer opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to change his mind and press his lips firmly together. He spun on his heel and left and Dr. Spangler turned back towards Sam. "And, you, sit here and let me finish my job."

"I need to look for my brother," Sam said. He slowly stood and took a step away from the exam table. He was secretly pleased when he managed it without staggering.

"It doesn't matter," Dr. Spangler replied dismissively. "Security won't let you back inside and I'm not releasing you from medical care."

Hazel sparks flashed in Sam's eyes. He took another step and said, "I'm leaving."

"I think you should listen to the doctor," the nurse remarked.

Sam didn't risk turning around to face her this time. He was afraid he might lose his equilibrium and face-plant on the floor. Instead he continued to address the doctor. "My brother, Dean, was _pulled _from the boat and I'm not going to sit here doing nothing while other people search for him."

He took a step to move around the doctor and Dr. Spangler put a hand on his chest to stop him. "I haven't even checked you for a concussion yet and while I was able to put your shoulder back into place, it should be immobilized."

Sam shook his head in the negative. An act he regretted when his stomach did flip-flops. "I'm fine. I'll watch the shoulder. Thanks."

"Now see here," Dr. Spangler snapped. "They won't let you in to search anyway and I can't let you leave and only to have you pass out wandering the city in this heat."

His patience worn thin, Sam stated slowly and deliberately, "I. Am. Leaving." Sam's voice dropped in pitch and gained volume. He walked closer and towered over the diminutive doctor. "Now move out of the way."

Dr. Spangler scuttled to the side and quickly exited the room, mumbling under his breath about Sam's questionable parentage. Sam followed slowly behind the doctor and stepped out the door. He looked down the hallway in either direction looking for any sign of Johnson.

Hospital staff moved busily between exam rooms, pushing patients in wheelchairs, carrying supplies and comforting loved ones. There was no sign of the security guard. He felt a hand on his arm and shrugged out of the light grasp.

"Here, take these," the nurse whispered conspiratorially, dropping several single-dosage pouches of ibuprofen into the palm of his hand. "You'll want the painkillers later. It would be best to take a couple now and then two more every four hours to reduce inflammation and keep the pain under a little more control."

Sam smiled appreciatively and shoved the pills into his jeans pocket. "Thanks, uh?"

"Janet," she supplied. Her brown eyes flashed in concern. "You really shouldn't be leaving."

"I have to go." Sam moved away from Janet and looked down the hallway again trying to figure out which way lead to the exit.

"The nearest exit and the parking garage are that way." Janet pointed to his left and Sam nodded marginally.

"Thanks." He walked slowly down the corridor, gaining confidence and steadiness as he went. He could always 'borrow' a car to get back to the park, after all, when in Rome…

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Charlie moved stealthily through the macabre dancing pirate display, his clammy jeans and shirt hugging his skin. The simulated gaiety was a stark contrast to his reality. At least the replica pirates had stopped dancing and singing some time ago and he could think a little more clearly. He needed to secure the area and set up his base camp. His attacker would be back soon and he had to be ready to defend himself.

His head throbbed in beat with the now silent music as he moved in the darkness searching for a weapon of any kind. He picked his way past the eerily still mannequin villagers. Human size dolls meant to represent life lay dormant along the ground, draped out of windows and frozen in mid-stride. He shuddered involuntarily as the chill of the images seeped into his sluggish brain.

He raised a hand to his head in a futile attempt to push back the pain. He knew there was something, someone he should be looking for, but all that seemed to be running through his mind was the need to protect himself and defend the area against the next attack.

A banging sound on his left drew Charlie's attention to a spot near the bridge. He crouched down behind a wooden barrel and peered into the darkness. People. The banging sound was a hidden door slamming shut beside the bridge and people were filing into the area. Beams of light bounced off objects in the surrounding area as they moved out in different directions. At least he had slowed them down when he had disabled the lighting system.

His right hand fumbled blindly while he kept his eyes glued to the newest threat. _Trust no one. _The wood beneath his hand felt rough and swollen from years of water exposure. It smelled vaguely of mold and Charlie rubbed a hand under his nose to clear it of an itchy, expectant sneeze. His fingers closed around a smooth, cool object and he diverted his eyes long enough to identify a metal sword. His lips curled into a smile as he silently pulled the sword towards him.

He sighed in relief when the intruders moved away, but he continued to grip the sword tightly in his hand. He carefully picked his way towards the water. He needed to get back to his base camp before the interlopers returned. They wouldn't be able to track him through the water and he needed time to set traps and assess his modest arsenal.

The stagnant water smelled like a sweaty sock left too long in a closed duffel bag. He wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant scent and jumped into the water. The cold water assaulted his nerve endings and caused the tiny hairs on his legs and arms to prickle.

Water filled his boots and sucked his jeans and shirt tightly against his skin. He shivered and gripped the sword tighter in his hand. The hilt was slick in his numb fingers and he quickened his steps. He wanted out of the water.

The darkness that kept him hidden also hid his destination from him until his toes hit the submerged wall. Charlie cursed silently and placed his weapon on the ground in front of him. Pressing his hands onto the ledge, he pulled himself out of the water.

Water pooled around his knees as it ran in rivulets off his clothing and the cool, underground air chilled his skin. He knelt on the ground with his head bowed allowing a fresh wave of pain to roll off his curved back. His chest heaved as he breathed through the pain and his clammy shirt hugged his chest tight. The wet, constricting shirt would get in his way if he needed to fight. With cold-numbed, white fingers Charlie pulled of his shirt and let it fall with a slap to the hard floor. Water beads danced away along the hard surface.

A bouncing light to his left caught his attention and he crouched low to the ground to observe the newest threat. Whoever it was, they were searching the area in a logical pattern. The tall figure moved silently through the pirate town on Charlie's side of the river. Every so often, the man would stop and shine the flashlight over the water and into the dark recesses. Charlie quietly retrieved his sword. He silently wrung out his shirt and tucked it into the back waistband of his jeans.

He stayed low and duck-walked further into the treasure cave. Jewels and gold pieces dulled by time filled chests, artifacts were scattered haphazardly about the room and the bones of Myra Jenkins gleamed ghostly white from the nearly all artificial skeleton. She had been such a bright and lively wench and now he found her a pale imitation of her former self. It seemed with each replacement piece, her spirit waned a little.

Light caught him full in the face and Charlie screwed his eyes closed. "Douse the light!" he commanded.

"Dean, thank God." The tall man, who had been searching the area, stepped forward with his light held low. A smile graced his face and he looked strangely familiar. Charlie, or rather the other whose body he shared, knew this man. _Trust no one. _

He stepped back and away from the man. "Stay back," he insisted, tightening his grip on the sword.

"Dean, are you alright?" the taller man asked. "You had me pretty worried."

"I said, stay back," Charlie repeated, lifting his weapon. The man's face contorted in confusion, his brow scrunching, his lips turned in a frown.

"Dean, what the hell?" the man asked, his voice did not sound angry, but rather concerned. "What's wrong with you?" He took a step closer to Charlie, but stopped short when Charlie lowered his sword point towards the man's belly.

"I'll run you through, if you don't stand down, lad," Charlie retorted, his lips pressed into a thin line of determination. "There's only enough treasure here for me and my crew. You can go back to whatever barnacle bottomed wreck you sailed in on and leave here as empty-handed as you arrived. Or, I'll teach you a lesson you'll not soon forget."

"Dude, that's not funny," the dark-haired man snapped, his hazel eyes flashed bright green sparks despite the darkness surrounding them. "There's at least ten guys from security searching for you, I've been worried you drowned down here and you're playing pirate?"

Charlie shifted his feet and adjusted his grip on the weapon. "I'm not playing anything," Charlie protested. "There be real dangers down here in the depths of the treasure cave. What brings ye into my domain?"

"Knock it off," the man replied, his brow furrowing. Concern leaked into his voice. "What's wrong with you? Are you okay?"

Charlie tilted his head to the side and appraised the man standing in front of him. He was tall and seemed able bodied. There was also something very familiar about him that Charlie couldn't put his finger on. He held the sword steady, aimed directly at the younger man's stomach. "I wouldn't worry about me, I'd worry about you."

"Dean," the man protested, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Charlie furrowed his brow and pressed the sword point against the man's belly. "You be mistaking me for someone else, mate," he said.

The young man in front of him scrunched his eyebrows together until they met in the center. "Dean, you need to put the sword down. We'll figure this out together."

The calm voice annoyed Charlie. How dare this young thief try to steal from him and then treat him as if he was crazy? Voices to his right reached his ears and Charlie pressed the sword point tighter against the man's flesh. "Shshshshshsh," Charlie hissed. "If you do anything to alert your men, I'll run you through."

The tall man nodded and turned his head in the direction of the voices. Charlie took advantage of the other man's distraction and shifted positions, placing the edge of the sword at his throat and pushing him backwards until he hit the wall.

The bobbing lights and moved throughout the pirate village and people called to one another with status reports. "Hey, over here! George is missing his sword." Charlie could not hear the muttered reply, but he wasn't going to wait around to be captured.

He tugged insistently on the nape of the interloper's shirt. "Down low and stay close to the wall," he whispered. "Go. Now."

With another backwards glance towards the people on the opposite shore, Charlie herded the shaggy, brown-haired man in front of him towards the hidden cave.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam crawled into the opening of the small alcove, staying as low to the ground as possible. He doubted he'd even be able to sit upright in the cramped space. He sat down on the damp floor and scooted further to the back of the cave-like area when Dean squeezed in beside him. Dean gripped the prop sword tightly in his hand and Sam wondered what had gotten into his brother.

He didn't seem possessed by a spirit and even if he was, why a pirate and a bad Hollywood version of a pirate at that? Although a few of the medical specimen bones remained from Walt's first skeletons on the ride, most had been replaced throughout the years by realistic plastic versions. Even the few that had not, the original donors would not have been pirates.

Sam frowned when Dean pushed him even tighter against the wall. He was not a claustrophobic person, but his knees were jammed up to his chin and his shoulders were hunched just to fit him into the cave without knocking his head on the ceiling. "This is all the tighter I can fit," Sam hissed. "Stop pushing."

Dean's lips curled into a wide smile and for a second Sam thought whatever had gotten into his big brother was gone. "Ya need to shut your blowhole, lad or I'll close it for ya," Dean threatened, the smile darkening while his eyes took on a dangerous glint that Sam had never seen in his brother's eyes, at least not directed at him.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't speak. The last thing he wanted right now was to antagonize his brother. Again he wondered what exactly was happening to Dean. The news article that had drawn them here in the first place had hinted that the ride was purportedly haunted by a resident ghost, but that didn't exactly shout pirate possession.

He rocked his hips, trying to ease the pressure of the cramped position. His shoulder banged the hard wall when Dean, apparently annoyed by his rocking, pushed him again, cramming him impossibly tight into the limited space. Pain radiated from his injured shoulder, up his neck and settling into his head. He pressed his forehead tight to his knees and bit his lip to keep from yelling. A coppery taste on his tongue convinced him to stop. He used the neckline of his t-shirt to wipe his mouth and turned his head marginally to look at Dean.

Dean's clothes and skin were wet and the dampness penetrated the thick denim of Sam's jeans and the light cotton of his t-shirt. Obviously Dean had fallen in the water when he had been pulled from the boat, but he seemed very wet for something that had happened over four hours ago. Dean didn't appear to be sporting any fresh cuts or bruises and he didn't seem to have any difficulty squashing him into the alcove until he was Sardine Sammy.

It didn't negate the possibility of a head injury though and Sam leaned a little closer to get a good look at Dean's head in the practically non-existent light. Sam could not see any bumps or swelling, but that didn't automatically mean Dean hadn't hit his head. But, if it wasn't possession and it wasn't a head injury, what was it?

"Dean, we need to go," Sam whispered. "Security is looking for you and I'd rather not have to explain your recent infatuation with all things pirate related to them."

Dean turned to look at him and for a brief flash, Sam could see recognition in Dean's eyes before it disappeared. "I'll not make this easy for ya," Dean whispered harshly. "Ya won't be gettin' your scurvy hands on my treasure without a fight."

Sam swallowed back a sigh of frustration. The easiest thing to do would be to somehow knock Dean unconscious and alert security to their presence. However, security meant the police would be right behind them and they could not afford to attract the attention of the police. He would have to get Pirate Dean to cooperate somehow.

"Dean, it's me, Sam," Sam said, hoping to bring out Dean out from whatever held him prisoner in his own body. "Your brother. You can trust me."

Dean scowled. "I can't trust anyone, ya scallyag, and I'd remember a brother. Had me a whole passel of sisters, but not one brother. 'Twas sad really."

"You'll have to trust me," Sam insisted. "I don't want those guys to find either of us. We need to get out of here and you can come back for the treasure later."

Sam had disabled the camera network in the ride when he had started looking for Dean a half an hour ago, but he suspected his sabotage would only remained unfixed for another hour or so and that left very little time to get his brother out. Whatever was happening to his big brother, Sam needed to get him back to the hotel so he could figure it out.

A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "Aye, a valiant effort, young thief, but I'll not be trusting you nor leavin' my treasure so your scurvy crew can make off with m'booty."

"Dean, we need to go," Sam urged quietly. The air was stale in the little cave and he breathed shallowly waiting for Dean to reply. If Dean did not agree soon, he would be forced to resort to plan B.

"You're right," Dean conceded. "But we won't be goin' far. You and I, young thief, are going to see Mama Collette."

This time, Sam did sigh…a voodoo priestess, of course. Why not?

……………………………………………………………**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

**AN:** Hmm…well…this has nothing to do with anything really. Other than – it solidifies my standings in the "Oogla Beyond All Measure" category.

I am in the choir at work. We practice together for weeks and then near the end of the Christmas season we carol around campus. This year, we also picked up a gig at the locally famous light display on a certain street of town as well as a choir round up at a local church with choirs from around the state. It was awesome.

Therefore, at our semi-yearly management meeting (which I do have to attend) we were asked to perform and we were asked to wear black pants and white tops. Anyone who knows me, understands, that me and a white shirt are only going to be compatible for a short period of time. Therefore, I wore other clothes all day and changed into my choir clothes at the theatre (yes, our meeting is held at a theatre).

I made it through warm-ups, through the performance (which did involve me getting off stage and gaining audience participation) and through the rest of the meeting all without getting a thing on my shirt.

My friend, who normally does not attend the meetings wanted to stay for food. They serve wine, cheese, desserts, snacks etc after the meetings and everyone stays and networks for awhile. I said, "I'll stay with you, but I'm not going to eat."

"Why?"

"First of all: white shirt. Secondly: White shirt. You know I'll end up with something on me."

"Come on, just a little something."

"No, really, no. I'll stay with you though."

Ah, would that I had stuck to my guns. Because when we hit the tables they had pear milkshakes. Perfect. Nearly white. It's in a glass. No problem.

Famous last words.

I had a sip and my friend had a sip and then she said, "I'm done, let's go." She'd managed to suck down a couple of snacks in that short time frame which is really unfair because she's got a great figure and she can eat a bunch of snacks like that.

Anyway, I turn to leave (mind you, I'm only five feet from the door) and a tall 6'3" guy from I.T. finishes his story which apparently involves elaborate gesticulation and his elbow connects with my cup sending milkshake into my hair, down my neck and from my shoulder on one side to my hip on the other in a sticky sash.

I start to silently giggle and my friend asked, "What? What's wrong?"

I turned around and displayed the mess. "From now on, can you just concede I'm right so I don't feel the need to prove it to you?"

We both started laughing so hard we were crying and luckily I did have spare clothes to change back into.

Really. I don't think you can take me anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

The Happiest Place on Earth

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural does not belong to me. If it did, I'd have the boys doing landscape work. My yard could really use the help. 

**Beta'd: **By the supreme ruler and all out Queen of -- "Hmm…I'm not sure…." If not for Wysawyg, there have been times when only magic could explain the apparent teleportation of people or things. Thanks, girl! Couldn't do it without you!

_I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are my own._

**Special Thanks: **To Muffy Morrigan for once again helping me with the Pirate talk and past one itsy bit of writer's block.

…….……………………………………………………**Chapter Three**……………………………………………………….

"_Dean, it's me, Sam," Sam said, hoping to bring out Dean out from whatever held him prisoner in his own body. "Your brother. You can trust me."_

_Dean scowled. "I can't trust anyone, lad, and I think I'd remember a brother." _

"_You'll have to trust me," Sam insisted. "I don't want those guys to find either of us. We need to get out of here and you can come back for the treasure later." _

_Sam had disabled the camera network in the ride when he had started looking for Dean a half an hour ago, but he suspected his sabotage would only remained unfixed for another hour or so and that left very little time to get his brother out. Whatever was happening to his big brother, Sam needed to get him back to the hotel so he could figure it out. _

_A slow grin spread across Dean's face. "A valiant effort, young thief, but I'll not be trusting you or leavin' my treasure so your conspirators can make off with my booty."_

"_Dean, we need to go," Sam urged quietly. The air was stale in the little cave and he breathed shallowly waiting for Dean to reply. If Dean did not agree soon, he would be forced to resort to plan B._

"_You're right," Dean conceded. "But we won't be goin' far. You and I, young thief, are going to see Mama Collette."_

_This time, Sam did sigh…a voodoo priestess, of course. Why not?_

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

The third time Dean poked him on his injured shoulder with the prop sword Sam whirled about and hissed at his brother, "Dean, you poke me with that thing again and I'm gonna shove it…" He stopped short when Dean's features tightened, the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced and the muscle jumped in his jaw. Dean was pissed.

"You be careful how you speak to me, whelp," Dean shot back in a harsh whisper, his tone carrying more weight than the soft volume of his voice. "Men have died for less."

Sam could feel his upper lip involuntarily curling and his forehead wrinkling in what Dean, not too tongue-in-cheek, called his 'my big brother is an idiot' face. He quickly schooled his features and aimed for a tone that sounded sincere. "Dean, I'm your brother and I want to help you, but something's wrong and you aren't yourself." He missed. Even to his own ears, it sounded placating. 

Dean gripped the rough-hewn handle of the prop sword tighter. "You want to help yourself to my treasure."

"No, I don't care about your treasure," Sam started, but he hesitated. Maybe he did care about the treasure. Whatever was in Dean, it seemed to care about the treasure very much. He had to be careful and not raise Dean's suspicions any higher, but he needed more information. "I can see it's very important to you." 

Dean tilted his head to the side and a grin tugged at one corner of his lips. "You seem a might bit interested yourself for a man who claims not to care. My treasure tain't none of your business, thief."

"I didn't mean anything by it, I…" Sam stopped short when Dean pressed the metal sword to his throat. It wasn't sharp by any means and Sam figured he had a decent shot at disarming his brother. Even when Dean was in top form, he could best his brother in hand to hand on occasion. But with this version of his brother, it was obvious the spirit controlled most of his actions. Dean would never have left his less dominant side unguarded. 

The problem being, however, that he needed more information to help his brother. Sam hadn't been able to completely rule out the possibility of a shapeshifter, but the most likely scenario was spirit possession. A crazy, Loony Tunes, thought he was a pirate spirit, but a spirit nonetheless. He'd have to wait it out for the moment and figure it out as he went along. He just hoped it would be soon. He raised his hands in surrender. "Dean, let's talk about this."

Dean grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pushed him against the artificial rock out-cropping. He winced when the sharp edges poked through the thin material. "You need to mind your tongue, lad," Dean said, his face hovering mere inches from Sam's. "I'll not be taking too kindly to your cheek."

Sam blinked against an odd rush of amusement in an otherwise tense situation. When he got Dean out of this, and he _would_ be getting his brother out of this, he was going to have loads of material to work with. He could live off Dean as a dandy pirate for weeks. "Dean, calm down. I just want to talk." 

A stranger glared out at him through his brother's green eyes. "I be calm, thief." Dean bent his head closer to Sam's. The unsharpened metal edge of the sword dug into Sam's throat. "You best stop wagging your tongue and keep it in your head."

The pressure on Sam's throat disappeared and Dean backed away enough for him to stand upright. He rubbed at the red line on his neck, barely visible in the weak light. "Dean…" Sam tried one last time.

Dean gestured with his sword point in the direction of the water and looked back at Sam with an angry scowl. "Maybe the water will cool you off."

Sam looked back at Dean, his eyebrows climbing higher into his hairline, the movement pulling on stitches in his scalp he hadn't been aware of before. "You've got to be kidding me." Sam could not keep the incredulousness out of his voice. 

"Into the water, lad," Dean said, his stage-whispered order audible above the sounds of the slowly moving water. A sharp poke in his back convinced Sam to sit down on the edge and slip into the water, knowing Dean would be right behind him. 

Another tactical error his brother would not have made. The water would impede both their actions, making it harder to keep someone subdued. Not to mention, Dean would have tied his hands at the very least to give himself the upper hand. Not that Sam was complaining. It would make for an easier getaway if that's what his intentions were. What he really wanted, however, was to find a way to bring his brother back to him and get rid of whatever was causing the accidents on the ride. The only way to do that for the time being was to play along. 

A cold hand on his neck guided him further upstream towards the bayou. The lights from the restaurant sparkled in the distance and the delicate strains of regional music drifted to them across the dark water. Sam could just make out the murmured voices of the dwindling lunch crowd. "That way," his brother's voice whispered near his ear, "We're going up there."

Sam grabbed the first rung of the wooden ladder up into the hut. It was a miracle no one had spotted them yet. Now would be the best time to make a break for it and drag the thing wearing his brother's skin with him. A loud voice in the restaurant drew the brothers' attention to the people above them. Both hands tightened around the rung and Sam kicked, his foot connecting solidly with Dean's chest. 

"Oof," Dean puffed out as the air escaped from his lungs. He staggered backwards sluggishly through the water and Sam pressed his advantage. He pushed off the ladder and landed with the majority of his body weight on Dean who had not regained his balance. Dean's footing slipped and the brothers fell back into the murky water.

Water filled his nose at the sudden submersion and his water-laden boots sought purchase on the slick stream bottom. Sam's fingers closed around the metal sword and he tried to wrestle it away from Dean. In a stroke of good fortune, his feet found traction and he pushed his brother into one of the support beams of the outdoor restaurant.

"This be a bad idea, thief," Dean said in a hushed, angry voice. He spit water as he talked and Sam grimaced as the droplets hit his face. 

"Dean, come on it's me, Sam," Sam said, urging his brother to remember. "Give me the damn sword."

"Stop now, or regret later," Dean said, his voice gaining a little volume. Dean's renewed grip on the sword kept Sam from pulling it out of his brother's hands. Instead he pulled it towards him and then quickly pushed it back towards Dean, shoving Dean hard into the wooden beam.

"Give me the damn sword," Sam repeated through gritted teeth. Pain radiated in sharp bursts from his injured shoulder, but he pulled back the sword again. He hesitated at the unfamiliar smile Dean sported. "What?"

"Regret later, it is," Dean said, his eerie smile widening.

Sam furrowed his brows in momentary confusion before he felt a freezing breeze race past, a sharp pain in his head and the world turned black again.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The annoying thief collapsed as Myra materialized in front of him. Her translucent white skin was nearly shiny in places. Her once beautiful red, then pink, now faded to gray dress clung to her in all the right places. Myra's hair was as colorless as her skin, but it was still styled prettily on the top of her head in a curling beehive. "Having trouble with the whelp?" she asked.

He caught the lad by the front of his shirt and kept his head out of the water. Charlie's borrowed muscles bunched and protested the burden. The scallywag was heavier than he had suspected. "Thank ye for your help, Myra." Charlie wrestled with the unconscious boy until he could get a good grip around his waist and pull him over his shoulder. He nearly lost his footing again, but the support of the wooden beam behind him kept him upright.

Charlie grunted and shifted his load higher onto his shoulder to balance the weight. "I can't carry him up to Mama Collette, Myra. What'd ya do to the lad?"

Myra laughed, the merry, tinkling sound mixing with the noise of the crowd and the water. "Not to worry, Charlie. I just pinched his brain a wee bit." She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together to illustrate. 

"Some day, wench," Charlie said. "Yawr gonna take more than a person can lose."

"Ah, that one there's got plenty o' gray matter to spare," Myra said, waving her hand at Charlie in a dismissive fashion. "You worry too much."

"Someone has ta guard our treasure and protect Mama Collette," Charlie said. He shifted again, but the young man on his shoulder did not react. "This scurvy cur was trolling down by m'treasure and he ain't to be havin' any of it."

"You think Mama Collette will be happy, what with ya bringin' a stranger into our midst?" Myra asked. "And he looks like a strong feller, that he does."

"Aye," Charlie agreed. "He'd make a fine sailor." He pushed off the wooden beam and headed for the hut, his progress slow through the cold water.

"Oy, Charlie," Myra called. "You're not going to be able to take him up there."

"Why not?" Charlie rested a hand on the first rung of the ladder.

"Charlie, have ya not got the sense God gave you?" Myra asked. "You know there's no room up there for a body. I can talk to Mama Collette for you and send her down if she'll come."

Charlie frowned. He had forgotten that the little hut could only be entered when he wasn't inside a new body. Just like he had forgotten that he couldn't float down from the bridge last time and had gotten tangled in some rope and strangled his last host. Or the time before when he had somehow managed to electrocute the body he was in, but it wasn't entirely his fault. Electricity had been a novelty to him. 

"If you'd be so kind, Myra," Charlie replied. "I'll truss up the thievin' dog if you'd fetch Mama Collette." 

"Of course I will," Myra said. Her form winked in and out twice before disappearing completely.

He turned and waded through the water back to the tall dock. He had barely made it under the structure before the lights came on. Charlie retreated further under the structure. Mama Collette would have to wait. He needed to hide, to hole up until he could talk to Mama Collette about the thief. He didn't need to keep the scurvy cur secured, however. He could leave him out where the other invaders would find him and take him off Charlie's hands. Or he could simply eliminate the problem altogether. It wasn't as if Myra or Mama Collette would want a male body after all.

The other whose body he occupied buzzed angrily in his mind. Charlie winced against the sensation. The other could not really speak to him, but he could pick up on his emotions and occasionally borrow from his knowledge in a way Charlie did not fully understand. Right now, the other was angry: angry to the point of bursts of light flashes behind his eyes and a crippling headache, nearly forcing Charlie to his knees. 

The hot flush of anger filled Charlie until he staggered under the combined burden of the thief and his own pain. _Okay, okay, _he thought through the haze. _I'll not hurt him. _The pain receded slightly, fading into the background far enough that he could think a little clearer. The others he had inhabited had not been able to project more than a slight niggle into his brain. He didn't know whether to be concerned or just plain scared. 

The boy on his shoulder moaned low in his chest. Charlie knew he didn't have long before the scurvy cur would be awake. Past experience had taught him the boy was more trouble than he was worth. Pain flared briefly in his head and he staggered, his other shoulder catching the side of a support beam. "Stop it!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "I already said I'd not hurt him."

"Dean?" It was more of another moan than anything and for a moment, Charlie hesitated. He wasn't quite sure why, but the young lad was growing on him. He pushed the feelings down and dropped the still mostly unconscious boy into the water.

Sam popped out of the water, gasping and choking. He brushed hair and water out of his eyes and looked around frantically before his gaze locked with Charlie's. Charlie was impressed with how quickly the boy went from confused to focus. This one was a fighter, like the other. Sam scowled at him and Charlie found himself hard pressed not to knock the petulant glower off the lad's face.

"Not Dean," he growled a reminder. "Shut yer mouth now, before I close it for ya." Sam muttered under his breath and Charlie narrowed his eyes. 

Without warning, the thief Sam grabbed him by the arms, whirled him around and shoved him against the nearest support beam. Sam leaned in until his face was inches from his. Charlie lifted the sword and Sam snagged his wrist. The thief banged Charlie's hand against the beam three times, before Charlie lost his grip and dropped the sword. The lad reacted before Charlie fully registered what had happened and he found himself facing an armed opponent.

"Look, whoever the hell you are. If you think I'm going to let you take up residence in my brother and have yourself a new life in his body you are even crazier than I think you are," Sam whispered harshly. 

"My. Name. Is. Charlie," Charlie cringed in fear as the taller man towered over him. He had underestimated the scurvy cur. Laughter rippled like quicksilver in his mind. _Shut up! _Charlie was not certain what the other found so amusing, but it seemed to be Charlie's fear of the young thief.

"You're stupid," Sam said, scrunching up his face. "The lights are back on, probably the cameras too. There's zero chance you can continue to wander around the ride with security crawling everywhere undetected. Stop fighting me and let's get out of here. I'm sure we can at least agree you don't want to go to jail."

"They'll have to catch me first," Charlie said. "I've lived here a long time, ya shot rolling dog. I know how to avoid the fleet."

Sam shook his head. "That's another thing. Real pirates didn't talk like that. You're like some, cheap Hollywood version of a pirate. Shot rolling dog? Shot rolling dog? What is that anyway?"

"A rolling dog is a traitor and that ye be. This here be my home and you won't be makin' me leave." Charlie lost his footing and slipped a little when Sam leaned in closer.

"I'm not really asking," Sam said, his free hand gripping the back of Charlie's neck. "We can't stay here without getting caught. You're leaving."

Charlie felt the strong tug on his neck and started to struggle until he remembered the young thief had stolen his sword. He would have to follow along for now and an opportunity would present itself. "There's a secret exit by the bridge," Charlie said. "We can get out that way."

The hand on his neck tightened momentarily before disappearing and Sam's scowling face appeared in front of him. "Why are you suddenly being so cooperative?"

"Ya made a good point, lad," Charlie said. He motioned for Sam to continue walking. "I don't want to be thrown in the brig." Sam seemed to consider his words for a moment before he nodded and started walking again.

They walked in silence and in relative darkness under cover of the tall dock. Slits of light filtered down to them through the floorboards of the outdoor restaurant and music played loudly above them, its answering tinkle approaching from across the water. "We will have to stay low and walk quickly," Sam said as they approached the edge of the dock. "I don't see anyone out there, but that could change."

"Aye," Charlie replied. "You never know when those thievin' dogs will appear."

Sam surprised him when he laughed lightly. "You pretty much think everyone's a thief, don't you?"

"And I ain't been surprised by being wrong, yet," Charlie said, scratching his nose. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

Sam spared Charlie a glance to make sure he was following and cut out against the open water. Miraculously they made it across to the far side of the bridge without being spotted. Sam and Charlie clamored onto the slick artificial flooring and Charlie headed for a blind corner, Sam hot on his heels.

"Where's the door?" Sam asked. "I don't see it."

"I'm not here for the door," Charlie replied. He pulled his back up sword out from behind a rock cropping and held it out in front of him. "I be here for this."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam stared at Dean. The would-be pirate spirit inhabiting his brother's body was a complete idiot. He seemed to lack even the most basic concepts of common sense and, quite frankly, he wanted this spirit gone. "Dean…" Green sparks flashed in his direction. "Charlie, you can't be serious. We're lucky no one has seen us already."

He tightened his grip on the sword he had confiscated from Dean earlier, but kept it held low by his side. There was no use provoking an already deranged and possibly angry spirit. Dean stepped closer to him, the point of his sword poking Sam in the chest. He didn't have anywhere to back up without falling back into the water and if the tactical disadvantage didn't convince him, the wet and clammy clothes he wore, did.

"I am serious, you pox-ridden dog!" Dean shouted. He kept the sword steady against Sam's chest as he took another step closer. Sam heard muted shouting coming from the restaurant and sighed. They had been spotted. 

"Yeah? Well, you are an imbecilic, vacuous ignoramus," Sam countered. If this Charlie-spirit in Dean's skin wanted to use words and phrases Sam didn't know, two could play that game. _Am I really about to have a sword fight with my possessed brother who thinks he's a pirate? _

The look on Dean's face would have been comical if the situation was different. It was Dean's typical 'I smell shit' face he used when he knew Sam had bested him and he didn't want to admit it, coupled with a look Sam had rarely seen directed at him. Dean wasn't just annoyed he was angry. 

"That's the last time ye insult me ya scurvy cur!" Dean drew back his arm and swung the sword in a sideways slashing motion which Sam easily deflected with a counter move.

"I don't want to hurt you," Sam said. Unfortunately the spook in a Dean suit didn't feel the same way as he parried. Sam grunted as the blow connected, his actions not quick enough. The sword point wasn't very sharp, but it was sharp enough to cut through his t-shirt and leave a long scratch down his chest. 

"I wouldn't be worryin' about me," Dean said with a smirk. He came at Sam fast and furious, his blade nearly blurring and Sam spun to keep his back away from the water.

Charlie had to be controlling Dean's every move. Dean had never held a sword before in his entire life. A machete? Yes, that weapon his brother could wield with deadly accuracy. But a sword? Never, unless the summer Dean had spent practicing his light saber technique with a wooden stake behind Bobby's garage counted. 

Sam on the other hand had a smattering of experience with a sword, a saber to be more precise. Jess had taken a fencing class one semester and Sam had been her willing sparring partner on more than one occasion. It had usually ended with them tangled in a mass of long limbs and laughter that quickly escalated into the more horizontal type of swordplay.

Sam was favoring his injured arm and the spirit in Dean knew it. He attacked from that angle repeated until the dull blade hit Sam's hand. Sam groaned and shook his hand. That blow had been hard enough to bruise bone. _Son of a…I need to put an end to this, but how without hurting Dean? _Sam could hear more voices and the sounds of running feet in the distance. He had to finish this and he had finish it now.

His back was tight against the wall and he found it difficult to counter Dean's move in the limited space. Dean drew back his arm and when he hesitated briefly Sam saw his window of opportunity. He pulled back his arm and punched, his fist connecting solidly with Dean's face.

Blood poured from his brother's nose and he bent over, moaning in pain. Dean dropped the sword in favor of pinching his nose and glared at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He bent down to retrieve his sword, lost his equilibrium and pitched forward, knocking his head on the ornamental rocks.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said, rushing forward and wrapping his arm around Dean's shoulders to help him sit down. "I had to stop you. Are you okay?" The shouting and the footsteps grew louder. "Come on, Dean, we have to go." Sam tugged on Dean's belt loops intent on getting his brother to his feet and out of the ride.

"Collette," Dean whispered, as he struggled to his feet.

"Who?" Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth to reply when the lights winked out.

Sam blinked against the darkness. His breath came out in barely visible wisps as the temperature of the air dropped dramatically. For a moment he felt dizzy and closed his eyes. When the feeling passed he opened his eyes and looked around. He and Dean were no longer standing beside the bridge. In fact, Sam was not sure they were even in the ride anymore. 

It seemed to be a dark room, with a few well-placed candles lighting the interior. Sam could hear the people shouting just outside the walls, but somehow he doubted they would be able to hear him. Dean sat on the floor beside him, one hand holding his head, the other pinching his nose. 

Sam watched as a woman materialized inside the room, her form morphing from transparent, to color, to seemingly corporeal in front of him. Her black hair hung in a thick plait and her colorful dress continued to take on vibrancy as the seconds past. She looked down at Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Charlie, I can't trust you for a moment, can I?" Her voice had a soft, Southern lilt. "If you can't keep this body from harm, I won't find you another one."

Sam's heart sank with those words, all humor in their present situation gone. Cobbs, the man before him and now Dean, they were all Charlie. Unknown by their owner Sam's fists tightened by his side. _I'll get you out of this, Dean. I promise._

……………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………..…………………………………………

AN: I'm having a HUGE fangirl moment (and I use the term girl loosely here, folks, as I haven't been young enough to be called a girl in well over a decade).

Heather03nmg, Muffy Morrigan and I are all headed to L.A. this coming weekend to the Supernatural Convention hosted by Creation Entertainment. Jared, Jensen and Kripke are all currently scheduled to be there.

Keep your fingers crossed that they all show!

SQUEE!


	4. Chapter 4

…………

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **Sam and Dean don't belong to me, but I do have a lovely signed poster hanging in my office now!

**Beta'd: **By the delightfully witty Wysawyg. Thank you for your help, I couldn't do it without you!

_As usual I had loads of homework after she beta'd, so any and all remaining errors are my own._

**Special Thanks: **To Muffy and Heather for humoring me when I stayed at the motel to write instead of going to the beach and for allowing me to bounce ideas off them. :D

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_Sam watched as a woman materialized inside the room, her form morphing from transparent, to color, to seemingly corporeal in front of him. Her black hair hung in a thick plait and her colorful dress continued to take on vibrancy as the seconds past. She looked down at Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Charlie, I can't trust you for a moment, can I?" Her voice had a soft, Southern lilt. "If you can't keep this body from harm, I won't find you another one."_

_Sam's heart sank with those words, all humor in their present situation gone. Cobbs, the man before him and now Dean, they were all Charlie. Unknown by their owner Sam's fists tightened by his side. 'I'll get you out of this, Dean. I promise.'_

…………………………………………………………..**Chapter Four**…………………………………………………………

The time had come to get his brother free of Charlie's spirit no matter what it took. Between the new possible threat of Mama Collette and the ever-growing threat of the inept Charlie, he couldn't afford to play it safe anymore: he needed to figure out what had happened and try the best solution.

Dean looked up from his kneeling position on the floor, the hang-dog expression on his face and the hunched shoulders spoke volumes. "I'm sorry," he apologized, addressing the newly arrived spirit.

"Don't be sorry, Charlie, honey," Mama Collette replied, moving her shadowy hand from Dean's shoulder to his head. "Just be careful."

"I'll try."

The whispered, compliant tone sent Sam spiraling off the crumbling edge of restraint. He pulled himself to his full height, puffed out his chest and glared at Collette. "How about we try the version of the story where you let my brother go?"

Mama Collette raised her head and turned her dark eyes on Sam. "You."

Sam stepped closer to Dean, his leg tight up against Dean's shoulder. He didn't know what the Voodoo priestess might do, but it wasn't reassuring that she seemed to recognize him. She drifted closer and Sam could feel the cold rush of her dead fingers on his shoulder. He suppressed a shudder as the cold seeped into his already aching joint.

"You tried to keep Dean away from me," she purred. "You tried to prevent me from gaining a new body for my faithful servant, Charlie." She moved her hand to stroke Dean's hair affectionately before pressing strong fingers into Sam's injured shoulder again.

"Dean's my brother," Sam said with a note of finality. "You need to let him go."

"That tone worked on Charlie, didn't it?" Mama Collette asked, moving her hand from his shoulder, down his arm and entwined her fingers with his. "It won't work with me, Sam. I expect more than barked orders."

"What do you want?" Sam asked, grinding his teeth.

Mama Collette stepped closer to Sam sandwiching their clasped hands between them. "I want you to take my remains and perform the cleansing ritual to release my spirit."

"Your remains?" Sam forced himself to stand his ground. He wanted to take a step away from her, to shake his hand free from her icy death-grip, but Dean came first. He would stand his ground because she wasn't getting any closer to his brother if he could prevent it.

Collette let out a sigh of long-suffering. "Yes. I was a revered voodoo priestess and my older brother was jealous. He had aspirations of becoming a priest but he lacked knowledge and a true affinity and belief in our religion. Ambition without passion is a dangerous combination. He murdered me to claim my rightful place and to conceal his secret he dumped my ashes here."

"I'm sorry," Sam said and he truly meant it. He couldn't imagine having an older brother that wanted what you had so much he would kill for it. The concept was so contrary to everything he knew that he couldn't fully wrap his brain around it. "But, how can we find your remains to perform the ceremony if he dumped your ashes in the ride? The current and the water filters alone would have destroyed, removed or scattered them beyond all hope."

"True." Collette released Sam's hand and he nearly sagged in relief. The cold numbing grip had climbed up his arm and started to freeze his insides. "But he also dropped my earrings into the water. Charlie found them for me."

"The treasure." Suddenly it became clear. Charlie had stashed the earrings with the other prop jewelry pieces to keep them safe.

"Yes." Mama Collette drift-walked to the other side of the small room and lit several candles on the table. They burned with a hot, blue-orange flame yet the candles themselves appeared transparent. "Take my earrings to the ocean, perform the ceremony and I'll release your brother."

"No." Sam looked down at his brother. Dean was sitting on the ground, cradling his head in his hands. The double-whack to the cranium must have thrown the spirit in Dean for a loop. His brother would never have shown this much reaction unless he was dying. A jolt of fear shot through him. _Dean isn't dying, is he? _

"Your brother is fine," Mama Collette replied as she approached Sam once more. "He has found a way to attack from within and he is fighting in earnest now. It doesn't matter; I can always bind him again. Don't forget that. Though I do wish he'd leave poor Charlie alone. This really isn't his fault."

"I'm not taking performing the ceremony for you until you release my brother." Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. _Keep fighting_ _it, Dean. _

"Then we are at an impasse." The candles on the far wall flared briefly then settled back to a bright flicker. "I cannot trust you and you do not trust me."

"It's not a matter of trust," Sam disagreed. Collette's dark eyes gazed at him with a brightness he had not seen in a spirit before. "It's not only a matter of trust. I won't leave my brother here under the control of a, let's face it, idiotic spirit while I do you a favor. Charlie's already managed to kill two people. Dean's not going to be a third."

Collette laughed, a surprisingly lively, merry laugh for a spirit. "He is a bit daft. Poor Charlie, he was a doctor in life. He believed in his science so much that he donated his body as a medical specimen upon his death. There's only a few of his bones remaining here and most of Charlie moved on with them."

"The smart part," Sam muttered. He tilted his head marginally and scrunched his face briefly. "He didn't have to tell you that. Somehow, you just know, don't you?"

Collette nodded. "I have retained many of my abilities even in this form. But even I cannot break free from this physical prison my spirit is trapped inside. If you use my earrings in the cleansing ceremony, then I will be free."

"Not without my brother."

A thin smile appeared on Collette's face. "You are why he fights Charlie. Interesting." Collette drifted back to the candles and turned her back on Sam.

Dean moaned low in his chest, the pain-filled noise growing until it came out as a strangled gasping cry. "Please, Mama Collette, do something. I'm sorry I lost the battle with the thief, but the other interfered."

"I know, mon bien-aimé," Collette cooed from across the room. "Come here."

"Dean, don't." Sam reached for Dean's arm, but Dean easily shook free.

"Don't worry," Collette reassured him. "I am letting him go."

Sam followed Dean to the back table. He didn't trust Mama Collette and he didn't trust Charlie. He would not be happy until Dean was alone in his own skin again. Having someone else in your body, poking around in your thoughts and memories was not a pleasant experience. "What are you going to do?"

Collette ignored Sam and handed a cup to Dean. She tapped the bottom of the cup and he obediently started drinking before Sam rushed forward and knocked the cup from Dean's hands. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" he snarled.

"I've released him," Mama Collette said, her calm tone the polar opposite of Sam's angry growl. "Look."

A small yellow orb bounced out of Dean's mouth and hovered near Mama Collette. She nodded and it disappeared through the windowless wall. Dean sank to his knees with a gasping moan and Sam was in front of him in a flash. He rested his hands on Dean's shoulders to support him. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean looked up from his kneeling position on the floor and just for a moment a look of fear in his green eyes was visible before it disappeared, as usual, behind a wall of cocky indifference. "Well, that sucked."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean tried pushing himself to standing and nearly face-planted on the wooden floor. Apparently it was possible to forget how to control your own body. His second attempt to stand went much better, but part of it could be attributed to the strong grip Sam had on his elbow. "I got it, Sam."

"I know you do," Sam replied, but the grip on his elbow remained firm.

Dean blinked sluggishly attempting to bring the world into focus. Colors swirled out of the lines and his head felt fuzzy. He licked his lips and swallowed trying to force moisture down his desert-dry throat. Awareness crept back slowly and he focused bleary eyes on his brother's face hovering only inches from his own. "Is my shirt gone?"

Sam puffed a laugh. "Yeah, dude, apparently part of the pirate code involves running around shirtless."

"What?" He remembered that, sort of: the treasure, hiding in a cave with Sam, the swordfight. "You punched me." He rubbed the sore spot on his jaw.

"I owed you one," Sam replied lightly. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut in before he could form a response. "Are you okay?"

"I'm better than okay," Dean quipped, tilting sideways a little before Sam tugged him upright.

"What did you give him?" Sam asked. "Something's wrong."

"M'fine," Dean said. The muscles in his legs trembled and he fought to steady his stance.

"You're not fine," Sam said before turning back to Mama Collette. "What did you give him?"

"I gave you something," Collette corrected. The flame from the transparent candles flickered brighter, casting shadows of the Winchesters on the walls.

"Me?" Sam's grip tightened on Dean's elbow.

"Not s'tight," Dean protested. He squirmed against the binding hold on his elbow. Sam did not release him, but he did soften his grip.

"I gave you your brother back," Mama Collette responded. "And the opportunity to save him."

"Save him?" Sam's voice choked a little.

He couldn't let Sam take a deal with the Mama Loa. They couldn't fight the Crossroads deal. He didn't want to risk it. He wouldn't. "No." It came out as a whisper against paper dry lips.

"What opportunity?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's feeble protest.

"Not that opportunity, I'm afraid, mon bien-aimé," Collette replied, placing a cold hand against Dean's cheek. "Although, I do have a few thoughts on that as well."

"Then what opportunity?" Sam asked again.

The shadows on the walls from the flickering candles danced and morphed until butterflies flitted across the wall. One of the shadowed butterflies broke free and flew towards Dean turning a brilliant blue and green on route. It sparkled brightly in a shower of turquoise and emerald before fizzling out. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam's face appeared again in front of him as another butterfly broke free from the wall and headed for Sam.

Crimson sparkles glittered around his little brother's head. "Sammy, I think something's wrong. The butterflies are exploding."

Sam squinched his face and Dean patted at the wrinkles in his brother's forehead. "No frowning. Everything's good. Just the butterflies."

"What did you do?" The words left Sam's mouth in a loud clang of brass bells. Dean shook his head. Sam did not sound like that. Ever.

"I gave you incentive, Sam," Mama Collette replied with tinkling silver bells.

"Incentive?"

"You help me. I help Dean," Mama Collette replied. "I know you're a smart man, Sam. Your brother definitely believes it. But you don't have enough time to figure out what you need to do and save Dean on your own. You're going to have to let me help him. First, however, you need to do a favor for me."

"Perform the ceremony." Dean winced against the brassy anger in Sam's voice.

"Perform the cermony," the silver bells confirmed. "You have approximately twelve hours before the effects of the poison cannot be reversed. Destroy the earrings or fail in my request and Dean will die."

Dean could feel the heat of anger rolling off his brother in giant waves. It was hot, but it didn't burn. He was feeling pretty good actually. "Don't do it, Sammy. Can't trust her. She's a spirit."

"I don't really have a choice, Dean," Sam said, the brass was gone replaced by Sam's normal voice if just a little off. "Charlie went all Jim Jones disciple in your body and drank the funky Kool-aid."

"Sorry 'bout that. Tasted bad." He swayed slightly, dipping low to avoid a vivid orange butterfly.

"It's okay, Dean, it wasn't your fault." Sam placed an arm around his waist and the grip on his elbow remained.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean protested. The butterflies were distracting, but they weren't terribly threatening. _Kind of beautiful, actually. I wonder why they keep sparkling like that?_

"Humor me." Sam said, his voice cracking slightly. "After years of enduring your mother hen routine, you can put up with mine for five minutes."

"Five minutes," Dean replied, surprisingly pliable and his words slurring. "That's it."

"Charlie went for the earrings," Collette interjected. "When he returns, you may leave."

"You know what he's facing, you know what happens when he dies, you must know," Sam said, his voice growing in volume. "What makes you think for a minute I'm going to help you?"

"I don't," Collette said. "That's why I'm offering you the chance to help Dean instead."

"It's blackmail, pure and simple," Sam countered.

Dean tried to tell Sam it was okay, that he'd be okay, but at the moment standing was taking most of his focus. "Don't…" He felt Sam's arm shift on his back and whatever Sam had done made it easier to stand. "I, don't…." _What the heck is wrong with me?_

"It may be blackmail," Mama Collette said. "But I have no choice. Charlie read in Dean's thoughts that you would be back and that you would try to find a way to get rid of us. I know I can't resurrect, my brother saw to that, but if you take my earrings to the ocean and perform the cleansing ritual I can be free."

Dean frowned. Ceremonies and rituals sounded too much like magic or spells and neither of those had ever brought his family any good. "Sam, no."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said. He had to take this chance with Mama Collette and help Dean. There wasn't any other choice to make. "How am I going to get the antidote after the ceremony? If your spirit is free and you move on, Dean will die regardless."

"I will be able to leave here and join you at the ocean when you start the ceremony. The instructions for the antidote will be with me." Mama Collette drifted to the altar again and the tiny bobbing light emerged from the other side of the wall. "Thank you, Charlie. I knew you could do it."

The little light bobbed merrily and floated about the room once in slow motion and then it zipped in wild zigzags before disappearing again. "Crazy Charlie." Dean's legs buckled and Sam shored up his hold on him. "Dean, you still with me?"

"Yeah, just tired," the mumbled reply sounded garbled. Dean swatted at something in front of him and turned his head lazily to look up at Sam. "I feel fine."

"Not terribly reassuring," Sam said. Collette drifted back towards Sam and the fine hairs on his arms stood up. The air grew cold and Sam shivered. Angry or just upset, Collette put off all the trade markers for a restless spirit. She held out her hand and Sam squeezed Dean harder with his good arm to hold out his other. Gold hoop earrings dropped into his outstretched hand and the intense cold metal burned against his skin.

"Here is the ceremony and a list of supplies you will need." Collette handed him a crumpled piece of yellowed paper. He glanced at the fancy script and the foreign words in black ink. The ceremony was written in French. Perfect. He couldn't pick out more than a word or two. It would take him over an hour to decipher the unknown language.

"You're from New Orleans?" he asked.

"Before the hurricane, oui," Collette replied, turning her dark eyes on Sam's hazel. "I would have liked you, Sam, you and your brother. I'm truly sorry it has to be this way."

Sam tamped down his anger. Another spirit was making their lives harder than they already were and he didn't have the compassion for the meddlesome spirits he once did. He simply didn't have the time to indulge them anymore. He didn't have enough time period. "We're going to have some trouble getting out of here. Dean and I fighting in the bayou attracted some attention."

"I have taken care of that." Collette made a sweeping motion with her arms and a narrow doorway opened into a dark passage way. She waved her hand and candles lit one after another down the corridor. "This passage leads to the outside."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement. "Come on, Dean, let's get out of here."

"Okay," Dean replied, not moving until Sam took a step forward. Sam grunted as all of Dean's weight slammed into him. Dean was going to be next to no help getting out of here. "Sorry," Dean apologized.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said, his voice strained. "We'll take it slow."

"Good," Dean slurred. "Slow is good."

Sam renewed his hold on Dean and together they carefully picked their way down the candlelit corridor, the candles behind them extinguishing as they passed by.

………………………………………………………….**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: Sorry this chapter is late. I'm blaming it on my mini-vacation!


	5. Chapter 5

Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **The boys, the car and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW.

**Beta'd: **By the incomparable Wysawyg – she's worth her weight in gold (and salt!).

**Time Line: **Between _The Kids Are Alright _and _Bad Day at Black Rock._

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"_Come on, Dean, let's get out of here."_

"_Okay," Dean replied, not moving until Sam took a step forward. Sam grunted as all of Dean's weight slammed into him. Dean was going to be next to no help getting out of here. "Sorry," Dean apologized._

"_It's okay, Dean," Sam said, his voice strained. "We'll take it slow."_

"_Good," Dean slurred. "Slow is good."_

_Sam renewed his hold on Dean and together they carefully picked their way down the candlelit corridor, the candles behind them extinguishing as they passed by. _

…………………………………………………………..**Chapter Five**………………………………………………………….

Sam looked up from the laptop when Dean moaned in his sleep. He paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard waiting to see if his brother would wake up. When Dean flipped onto his stomach and burrowed into the pillow Sam drew a breath of relief.

He was hoping Dean would sleep for a couple of hours. The rag-doll big brother he had dragged through Disneyland, accompanied by the closing fireworks, had been less scary than accidentally suicidal possessed by a pirate Dean, but not by much. His brother had been lucid, but lethargic as if he was struggling to walk through water. Sam almost considered it a good thing that Dean was a little out of it or he would have been even more of a pain in the ass to get out of the park. Dean resembled a bear with a sore paw when he'd been hurt. Not hurt enough to be out of commission, but hurt enough to be pissed about it.

Sam leaned back in his chair and stretched tight muscles, sore from spending the last hour hunched over the keyboard. His head throbbed, but he had no idea if it was due to the stress of trying to decipher the flowery script of the ritual, the immediate deadline on his brother's life or the knock to the head. It didn't really matter. The only thing that did was performing the ritual to get the antidote and save Dean. Nothing else even made the list.

He picked up the fragile parchment and squinted at his translation so far. The list of ingredients had been easy enough. He needed an unscented candle, perfumed oil and fresh rosemary to coat the object of entrapment. It was the prayer that defied him. The old-fashioned script made it difficult to decipher and he only recognized a few words that were similar enough to Latin to jump out at him. The translation was half complete when the next line chilled him to the core.

"No," Sam whispered. _I must have translated that wrong. _He rubbed blurry eyes and bent his head close to the paper. He willed the words to change, but the handwriting in this particular section was clear and easy to read. How in the world had he missed this passage before? "God, no," he murmured in an almost prayer.

"Sammy?" The soft call from the bed was barely audible and for a moment Sam thought maybe he had imagined it until he saw his big brother's green eyes blinking lazily at him.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered. "I'm here." He stood and muttered to himself about stubborn brothers as he crossed the distance in four long strides and sat down on the opposite bed. Dean's eyes darted frantically around the room.

Sam reached across the divide and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm here," he repeated.

"Dreaming?" Dean asked, his voice fringing on breathlessness. His eyes stopped darting about the room and settled on Sam's face.

"More like hallucinating," Sam explained, not breaking the contact with Dean. He cursed inwardly that Dean had not remained asleep. The tea Collette had given his brother was obviously causing visions and the look of fear on Dean's face. He doubted winged insects would have that effect on Dean, but he didn't know how else to broach the subject without his brother blowing him off and hiding behind bravado. "Butterflies again?"

Dean's reached out and grabbed Sam's arm, his fingers digging painfully into flesh. "More like demon smoke," he stuttered out. Dean's grip did not lessen, but Sam didn't try to pull free. If Dean needed reassurance that he was here, he didn't mind a few bruises.

"It's not real, Dean," Sam said, somehow knowing that his brother needed to hear the words. "I'm here, you're safe, there're no demons." _Why demons? _As he completed the thought, Sam knew he had his answer. Dean's subconscious barriers were slipping and deeper and darker secrets and fears were being exposed.

"Sa-salt?" Dean's breath came in quick, hyper-ventilating puffs. His eyes roamed the room, darting in his head as if to escape their physical confines.

"Dean, breathe, I got it covered." Sam reached for the tea he had steeped thirty minutes ago after returning to the hotel. It wasn't a cure by any means, but Sam hoped it would provide a small measure of relief. The ceramic mug was cold and Sam doubted the contents tasted good, but it couldn't be any worse than what Collette had forced Dean to drink earlier. "Here, drink this."

He helped Dean scoot to a semi-sitting position and sat down next to him. He steadied the mug in Dean's shaking hands. Tea sloshed onto the sheets, coloring them in sickly greenish-brown splashes. Dean took a few sips, grimaced and pulled the cup away. "That's nasty, Sam."

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "It should help, Dean, finish it."

Dean crinkled his face in disgust. "I'm not drinking that." He took a sniff and jerked his head back. "You drink it. What's in it anyway?" Dean's face relaxed as the small amount of tea he had drank started to work.

"I picked up some herbal tea and nux vomica at a homeopathy/herbal shop on the way back here," Sam replied, nodding his head in the direction of the cup. He offered a small smile of thanks when Dean took another sip. "I could read the ingredients list without an exact translation and Sharon was pretty helpful."

"Sharon?" Dean smirked, putting an unhealthy amount of innuendo into the word. Sam didn't have time to react when Dean jerked away from him unexpectedly, pushing his back into the corner of the wall. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling to a spot somewhere behind Sam and Sam placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Sharon, the shop owner," Sam continued as if nothing had happened. He could preserve his brother's dignity by pretending he didn't see Dean's erratic movements and that he couldn't hear the barely contained fear in his voice. He could ignore Dean's disjointed words and thoughts. He could act as if everything were fine and that he didn't notice his big brother was slipping farther away from him.

"She insisted on smelling your breath. She swore she could tell what was in the potion you drank by scent alone." Sam allowed a small smile to form. "She was something else."

"You let a strange woman smell my breath while I was sleeping?" Dean asked, taking another sip. He grimaced at the cold liquid. "Tell me she was hot at least, Sammy."

"You seemed to think so." A smile tugged at the corner of Sam's lips before he grew serious again. "Do you remember anything?"

Dean's face bunched in concentration. He sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Patchouli and lace?" he offered finally. He raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly. "Did I kiss her?"

This time Sam did emit a small puff of laughter, but one that pulled at his heart. Of course Dean would remember that part. He swallowed hard, the smile disappearing again. One year. It was hardly any time at all. How many more times would he be able to joke with Dean or talk to him about normal, everyday things before it became too painful? Sam pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn't think about the deal right now, he had to take care of this first or he wouldn't even get his year with Dean.

"Yeah, you did. But I was talking more in the general sense. That spirit, Charlie, had control of your body for the better part of a day. How do you feel? Do you feel okay?" Sam asked, his eyes raking over Dean looking for some sign that his brother felt better after drinking the tea.

"Depends," Dean said with a shadow of his normal smirk. "I'm not really feeling up to fencing, swimming or another trip to Never-Never land." He paused and eased away from Sam a little. "But I'll live."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam cringed, stood up and walked away from Dean. He clenched his fists and took several deep breaths. Dean watched as Sam slowly and deliberately relaxed the muscles in his back, shoulders and hands until his fingers unfurled. "So you remember what Collette said?"

"About the cleansing ceremony?" Dean swallowed hard remembering the awful taste. "Yeah, but you've got that figured out by now."

Sam turned around to face Dean and strode back to the opposite bed. He flopped down and sighed. "Yeah, half of it, Dean. But…" He looked down at his hands seemingly unable to look his brother in the eye.

Dean furrowed his brow. "But what, Sam?" He noisily chugged the last of the tea and clumsily set the coffee mug on the side table.

"But…I haven't finished translating it, that's all." Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"Sure," Dean said. "You do realize this isn't my first day as your big brother, right?"

"It's not going to be your last either," Sam whispered harshly, obviously never intending for Dean to hear. Sam should have known better. Dean's hearing ability when it came to his little brother amazed even himself sometimes.

Dean steadfastly ignored the one remaining puff of demon smoke hovering near his little brother. "Out with it, Sammy."

Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes determined, almost dark in their intensity. "The ceremony calls for a willing blood sacrifice."

"No way," Dean said. "I'm not letting you…"

"Do you really think I'd hesitate if I thought it would save your life?" Sam asked, anger slipping into his tone. "Collette took away my options here, Dean. She made sure things would go her way."

Dean blinked, his drug-addled, sluggish brain not keeping up with his little brother. "So, the ceremony…?"

"Dean, the sacrifice must willingly drink a purifying tea prepared by a voodoo priest or priestess," Sam said, failure etched into every word. He slumped, hunched his shoulders and scrubbed his face with one hand.

Now he was catching up. "Oookay, define blood sacrifice."

Sam cast him a look of long-suffering. "It doesn't matter, you're not doing it."

"Why not?" Dean asked. He had slipped farther down the bed, so he scooted until he was propped upright again. His muscles were tired and disconnected and did not easily respond to his commands. He barely had the energy to sit up. "I donate a little blood for the ceremony, Collette's spirit goes free, we get the antidote and boom-ba-duh-boom, it's done."

"It's not that easy," Sam said, his eyes locked on Dean's.

"It never is," Dean said. His vision wavered and his stomach roiled. "So, what do we have to do?"

"I need to finish translating the prayer and we need to come up with a plan B," Sam stated. He narrowed his eyes. "Dean, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Dean placed a hand on his stomach. He clamped down on his fear as the demon smoke circled Sam's head and slowly covered him in a black veil. "You're kidding, right? First her tea and now yours?"

"Demon smoke?" Sam asked quietly as his eyes turned coal black.

Dean had never wanted to see that look in his brother's eyes again. "Nah, just not feeling too hot, that's all." It took everything he had not to react when Sam's head snapped twice to the right with unnatural quickness before Sam tilted his head and smirked.

"Why don't you get some more sleep, Dean?" the cold words said with a sneer. "It'll be easier if you don't fight it and get some sleep."

"Not tired," Dean said. He whacked his head on the headboard when he moved away from Sam's approaching hand. His brother's palm felt like a dead fish on his forehead.

"You're burning up," Sam taunted, pulling his hand away.

"Not yet," Dean snarled. "Leave me alone." He watched warily when Sam got up and stalked to the bathroom. He heard water running and moments later Sam emerged with a washcloth in his hands. When his little brother bent close to place the cool cloth on his forehead, the black eyes were gone leaving only concerned hazel in their place.

He melted into the mattress, finally losing the battle to conquer his own body. There was no way he could move now. It didn't really matter because what he thought he'd seen and heard wasn't Sam. Sam was not possessed by a demon, not that he'd really believed that anyway. Dean's head nodded bonelessly and he succumbed to the lure of darkness.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam stretched his neck muscles and sighed with satisfaction when several vertebrae cracked and settled back into place. He watched as the tight lines of pain and fear around his brother's eyes faded and his face settled into a relaxed expression. He moved his hand from the washcloth on Dean's forehead to his wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was fast, but not too fast. Dean's eyes darted behind closed lids and Sam hoped Dean saw butterflies again and not the demon smoke.

Sam glanced at his own wrist. There were only four hours left and they were about forty-five minutes from the beach. He had to hurry and finish the translation. There was no way he wanted to perform the ceremony with only minutes to spare and he still had to come up with another solution, one that didn't involve Dean's life.

He looked over at the computer and then back to his big brother. He didn't want to leave Dean's side. He wanted to stay here and know that somehow, someway everything would be alright. Losing Dean now, before he'd even had a chance to fight to figure out a way to stop Dean's deal with the Crossroads Demon from coming due was simply too much to endure. He didn't want to be the only surviving Winchester. He wouldn't. Either they both walked away from this at the end of the year or neither one of them would.

Sam sighed and walked back to the computer. First things first, he had to finish deciphering the voodoo prayer and ceremony so he could perform it properly. He only hoped he didn't have to say the prayer in French. His poorly rendered accent alone would probably be enough to keep the ceremony from working.

He was glad he had stopped at Serendipity even though his original intent had been a bust. He had hoped to get an antidote for the tea without having to perform the ritual. He would have gladly salted and burned the damned earrings and let Collette's spirit be extinguished or move on. Quite frankly, he couldn't care less about whether her spirit went free or not. She threatened Dean's life and that put her in the same boat as the Djinn, the Crossroads Demon and Meg as far as he was concerned.

Sharon had tried, she really had, but the moment the words 'voodoo spell' came out of Sam's mouth she shook her head and apologized.

"_I'm sorry, Sam," Sharon said, her dangling earrings tinkling as she shook her head. "You don't mess around with Voodoo."_

_Sam gritted his teeth and removed the damp notebook paper he had scribbled on from the visor. "I have a cleansing ceremony. I need to perform this ritual and she said then she'd give me the antidote. You do have the things I need for the ceremony, don't you?"_

_She took the paper from his hands and scanned the list. "Yes, I have the items you'll need." _

_She looked up at him and he nodded, his emotions firmly in check. "Thanks."_

_She smiled a tiny Mona Lisa smile and looked down to Dean and then back to Sam. "If you'll let me, I could smell his breath. I'm sure I could figure out something that would make him feel a little better. Ease his symptoms at least. And we could guess at the ingredients for the cure and hope we get them all. That way, you'd be prepared."_

"_You could do that?" Sam felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Anything you can do, I'd appreciate." He opened the passenger door and stepped aside granting Sharon full access to his brother. He wasn't entirely pleased with allowing another woman to get that close to Dean considering what the last one had done, but he had little choice._

_Her colorful peasant skirt swished as she climbed over Dean and straddled him. She placed her hands on the seat behind him and leaned in close to his face. Sam's eyebrows rose of their own volition. If he didn't know any better, it looked as if she was preparing to make out with his brother._

_Dean's hazel chose that moment to pop open and his face went from momentary surprise to a lascivious smirk in record time. "Whatcha doin'?" he slurred._

"_Smelling your breath," Sharon answered distractedly. She sniffed deeply and closed her eyes._

"_Mm-hmm, you could do that better if you got a little closer." Dean placed a hand on her neck and drew her in for a deep kiss. Sam rolled his eyes. Even hopped up on bewitched tea, his brother was incorrigible._

_Dean's hand dropped to his side and his eyes closed. "See? Wasn't that better?"_

_Sharon laughed and quickly exited the car to stand beside Sam. "He certainly is a handful, isn't he?"_

"_You have no idea," Sam replied. "Did it help?"_

"_What, the kiss?" She patted Sam on the shoulder and walked past him to the shop. She placed a hand on the door and looked back at him. "Actually, I think it did. I'll bring all the stuff out you'll need. Just give me five minutes."_

"_Thank you," Sam said, offering her a smile of gratitude._

"_You're welcome," Sharon said and in a swish of color and material she slipped into the shop._

_Sam walked around and sat down in the car next to Dean. He head and shoulder throbbed and he lowered his forehead carefully to the steering wheel. It was cool and it helped support his head which seemed to be growing heavier by the hour. The next stop would have to be for a six-shot mocha espresso. He'd never be able to stay awake without caffeine to supplement the adrenaline high he was currently using._

_A quiet knock on the window woke him from a light sleep and Sam opened his window to accept the paper bag from Sharon. "Thank you," he said again. He handed her a couple of twenties and she held up her hand in refusal._

"_On the house, Sam," she said. "Just take care of that brother of yours."_

"_I will," Sam replied, his tone changing from gratitude to determination. _

"_I put a little something in there for your pain," Sharon said. When Sam opened his mouth to protest she continued. "Save your breath. I know pain when I see it, even when it is hidden behind a wall of stubbornness. Don't worry, it's the non-drowsy stuff. Good luck."_

"_Thanks," Sam said, with a nod. He started the engine, waved to Sharon and pulled slowly away from the curb. It was time to get busy deciphering the ceremony._

A moan from his brother drew Sam from his recollections and back to the task at hand. He waited to see if Dean would awaken before powering up his sleeping computer and taking a sip of cold espresso spiked with Sharon's secret blend of herbs for his own pain. She had been right, it hadn't made him tired and it did help.

When it became apparent Dean was not waking up, Sam turned his full attention back to the parchment and the translation sites he had active on his browser. There had to be something in the wording, some loophole, a misplaced comma for Christ's sake that would provide an alternative that Sam could live with.

He worked steadily and as the hour drew to a close he ground the heels of his palms into blurry eyes. He had finished the translation and scoured the verse over and over. There didn't seem to be any way out. Yet another corner they were backed into and Sam felt his hackles rise. He pounded a fist on the table in frustration.

"Fuck!" he cursed hotly. He continued cursing a blue-streak that would have impressed every trucker, sailor and hunter within a hundred mile radius as he stood and stomped to the bathroom. He didn't slam the door because he didn't want to wake Dean, but he did shut if firmly behind him and latch it. His hands were shaking and he needed to regain control. He couldn't let Dean see him like this.

He didn't know how long he stood hunched over the bathroom sink, but it had been long enough to cause his back muscles to tremble and his sore shoulder to scream in protest. He turned on the taps, splashed cold water on his face and ran damp fingers through his hair. He turned the water off and used the collar of his t-shirt to dry his face.

Sam turned and rested his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and opened the door, prepared to tell Dean what he'd discovered. He stood in the doorway, blinking and trying to process what he saw, or rather, what he didn't see. Dean's bed was unoccupied and the door was wide open.

"Son of bitch," he whispered to the empty room.

_TBC_

……..………………………………………………...**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: Sorry for the late update. I'm working on yearly evaluations for my team at work and it is kicking my behind!


	6. Chapter 6

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural, Disneyland and the Voodoo ritual do not belong to me.

**Beta'd: **By the incomparable Wysawyg without whom I would lack the fortitude to post at all sometimes. Thanks for being tough when it matters and supportive when it counts!

_I played (a lot!) after she beta'd so as usual any and all remaining errors are my own._

**Special Thanks: **To Muffy Morrigan for asking HER contact and procuring the ritual Sam needed. Many thanks.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSNSNSN

_He didn't know how long he stood hunched over the bathroom sink, but it had been long enough to cause his back muscles to tremble and his sore shoulder to scream in protest. He turned on the taps, splashed cold water on his face and ran damp fingers through his hair. He turned the water off and used the collar of his t-shirt to dry his face. _

_Sam turned and rested his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and opened the door, prepared to tell Dean what he'd discovered. He stood in the doorway, blinking and trying to process what he saw, or rather, what he didn't see. Dean's bed was unoccupied and the door was wide open. _

"_Son of bitch," he whispered to the empty room._

………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………………………………………………………

Sam ran from the room hoping to catch sight of Dean. Dean didn't like being cooped up in the motel room for long periods and Sam always assumed it was because he'd been forced to do so for many long years when they were kids. First, because he was too young to hunt with their father and then because Sam was. It wouldn't have surprised him if Dean had stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and if he was lucky Dean would be in or around the Impala. The Impala called to Dean the way a siren did a sailor. Sam should have known better. Their luck never ran that smoothly. The unlit motel parking lot did not make it easier and he squinted into the darkness. "Dean!" he shouted, heedless of who might hear him. He spun in a tight circle looking in all directions.

"Dean!"

A warm breeze filtered through the palm trees and the ubiquitous sound of traffic filled the air, but Dean did not respond. "Dean!" Sam yelled even louder as he ran to the parking lot exit.

"Shut the hell up!" Sam didn't waste a breath or his time responding to the jerk in room thirty-seven. He couldn't care less if he woke anyone up. The only thing he did care about was finding Dean.

He glanced down the street in both directions and caught a glimpse of his brother's form ducking into an alley half a block away. Long legs carried Sam to his destination in record time. He stopped and cautiously entered the dead end alley. Dean was not in sight, but the options were limited.

Sam peered behind an overstuffed dumpster and grimaced at the smell emanating from the metal receptacle. It smelled of spoiled food and rat feces. Sam did not want to hazard a guess as to the true source of the puddle of amber liquid at his feet, but the smell was undeniable.

Choking back a gag, Sam backed away from the dumpster. He moaned when an awful thought occurred to him. Stepping onto the toes of his left foot, he cautiously opened the lid. His face scrunched in disgust as the smell grew astronomically. The good news was the full dumpster left no room for his recalcitrant six foot one brother.

He allowed the lid to slam closed, metal meeting metal in a loud clang that echoed off the brick walls. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath.

A door opened farther down the alley and a wedge of light escaped from inside. Loud voices shouting in Chinese drifted out the open door. The smell of fried rice and spicy beef assaulted Sam's olfactory senses and his stomach rumbled. _How long has it been since either of us has eaten?_

His attention was drawn from the activity inside to a far corner by the sound of his brother's voice. Dean crouched in the shadows, his back supported by brick. He didn't seem to be focused on any one thing, his glassy eyes roving from one point to another. "It's time to go," Dean frantically stage-whispered. "Gotta go. Gotta find Sammy and go."

Sam scrunched his face in empathetic pain. Dean was lost in his own mind for the second time in as many days. "Dean?" Somewhere inside his clouded brain Dean seemed to register Sam's voice. He turned towards Sam and stood, tilting his head to one side and listening. Sam took a step closer and reached out a hand to his brother. "Dean?"

Dean's pinched look melted and a wide, crazy grin split his face. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean, why'd you leave the room?" Sam asked, tentatively reaching out to snag Dean's t-shirt. He tangled his fingers in the thin material and pulled Dean closer to him with a light tug.

"I was looking for you, little brother," Dean replied amiably. He patted Sam on the shoulder with his free hand. "Don't be so uptight. You worry too much."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. This new incarnation of Dean was a little too Zen for his current frame of mind. Dean had less than a year to live and that was if he figured out how to break the curse on Marie and save his brother at the same time. He still hadn't figured out how to pull that rabbit out of his hat yet. "Come on, Dean, let's get back to the motel. You forgot your pants."

Dean looked down at his boxers, socks, shoes and bare legs. "I wear pants?" A lop-sided wide smile graced his face and his green eyes were wide. Sam shook his head. He'd traded possessed Dean, for out of his mind on voodoo tea Dean. Right now, he wanted his locked-down, trying to hide how scared he was, sarcastic big brother back.

"Yeah, normally anyway," Sam replied calmly. He grabbed the scruff of Dean's collar and pulled him closer with a quick jerk. He used a one-armed hug to control his wandering brother and steer him towards the end of the alley. Dean stopped every step or two to look at things: a scrap of paper rustling along the wall propelled by fan exhaust, a jagged piece of colored glass from a broken beer bottle and a rat rustling in the steaming dumpster captured Dean's attention. "A little more walking and a little less sight-seeing, Dean."

"Don't be so grumpy, Sammy," Dean pouted. He patted Sam on the back of the head. "You always were cranky when you were too hot or hungry. Are you hungry?"

"Dean," Sam said, exasperation clearly etched into the name. "I'm fine. You need to walk."

"Remember that time you were lost at Pastor Jim's?" Dean asked, staggering away from Sam until he braced himself up against the rough wall.

"Which time?" Sam asked, affection evident in tone. He crooked his arm around Dean's neck and pulled him upright and away from the wall.

Dean laughed, a genuine chortle of amusement. The kind of laugh he hadn't heard from his brother in months and it tore at Sam. "That time you wandered off following a bunny when you were seven."

"I didn't follow a bunny, Dean," Sam protested. "I was…" _I was trying to help you, Dean. I just didn't know how._

Dean stopped again and pulled Sam's head down closer to his own. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Hazel eyes scanned green searching for the reason behind Dean's question. Clarity rushed in. Dean was stoned. Stoned and philosophical, no doubt a bi-product of one of the teas he'd drunk in the last few hours. Sam couldn't handle this right now. He was at the end of his emotional tether already and a suddenly open Dean in place of the closed off stranger he'd been sharing space with was almost too much. He'd wanted Dean to drop the tough guy routine, to just tell him the truth, but he hadn't pushed. He'd given Dean time to deal. He owed his brother that much. "I remember, Dean."

"It's still true and you still do." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam and gave him a clumsy hug.

"Dean," Sam's voice cracked with emotion. "Please, let's just go."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean replied, his mind still rolling around in the past by the way he affectionately ruffled Sam's hair. Dean just didn't do that much any more, not that Sam would let him. Dean fell silent. He stumbled along side Sam, occasionally slamming into him and causing Sam to hit the brick wall.

They emerged from the alley and Sam glanced both ways checking for cars or witnesses. He desperately hoped they wouldn't run into any law enforcement with Dean in his underwear. Sam coaxed Dean in the direction of the motel and shouldered more of his brother's weight due to Dean's flagging efforts at walking.

The brothers walked drunkenly back to the motel room. Sam fumbled with the lock, one hand pressed flat against Dean's chest holding him upright against the doorframe. He grew increasingly frustrated when his attempts were thwarted by Dean listing to the side, in danger of toppling over. Sam fisted the collar of Dean's shirt and held him in place. He sighed in relief when the key finally turned in the lock. He dragged Dean into the room and slammed the door behind them.

Dean placed both hands on Sam chest and pushed himself off, immediately losing his balance and falling flat onto the bed. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean lay on the bed, his eyes closed with a wide grin on his face. "Peachy." Dean didn't open his eyes to look at Sam nor did he make any effort to pull his legs onto the bed.

"Peachy?" Sam parroted with a shake of his head. Dean wasn't peachy any more than he was keen, splendid or dandy. He shook Dean's shoulder lightly and waited for Dean to open his eyes. "Seriously, man, are you going to be okay while I find your pants?"

Dean reached across his chest to pat Sam on the arm. "You worry too much, Sammy."

"So you've said," Sam replied with affection in his voice. He patted Dean's hand that rested on his arm. "I'm going to find your pants now. We need to go."

"I'm not wearing pants?" Dean asked, his face screwing up in confusion.

"No and I gotta tell you, Dean. It's not a good look on you." Sam offered Dean what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. "You should wear jeans when you decide to leave the room."

"I'll try to remember that," Dean said, his eyes drifting closed again.

"You do that," Sam replied.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean listened to the sounds of his brother packing up the room and muttering to himself. He didn't know what Sam was so worked up about, things would be okay. He hummed a tune under his breath and bounced his feet in time to the melody.

"Dean." Sam sounded exasperated.

"Yeah?"

"Could you _not _hum that tune?" Sam asked.

"Don't be that way, Sammy," Dean said. He opened his eyes and looked in Sam's direction. His brother seemed to be simultaneously annoyed and scared at the same time, a feat even for Sam. "Whatza matter?"

"Nothing, Dean." Sam said, his eyes flicking away before returning to his brother. "I'm just tired and I don't want to hear that blasted tune anymore, well, ever. I don't want to hear it ever again."

Dean chuckled. "I didn't realize Disneyland was so traumatizing."

"Disneyland wasn't," he sighed. Sam walked over to Dean and took off his shoes. "The voodoo curse was." Sam tossed Dean his jeans and they landed on his face. "Put those on."

"You always were a drama queen," Dean said, his voice echoing in the denim cave. He pulled his jeans off his face and let them drop to the floor. The room had started spinning along with his head. He felt disconnected as he floated airily just above the discomfort brewing in his body. "Where are we going?"

There was a pause and Dean wasn't sure Sam would answer. "We have to perform the cleansing ceremony at the ocean. It'll be fine. I'll take care of it."

Dean twisted on the bed to get a better look at Sam. His little brother was using his 'calm the witness' voice on him and that never boded well. He remembered being with Sam and the spirit of the voodoo priestess, Collette. It was a hazy memory bathed in iridescent butterflies, but he remembered Sam arguing with Collette about a ritual. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam replied, distractedly. He didn't look up at Dean, but continued to pack the laptop away in his messenger bag.

As the fog enrobing Dean's mind thinned, his physical discomfort grew. Memories of the last few hours flicked through his brain and his stomach churned slowly. "Sammy?"

That got his brother's attention. Sam's head snapped in his direction. "What's the matter?"

"I don't feel very good." He draped an arm over his eyes in a feeble and futile attempt to stave off the resurfacing memories. The bed dipped and he felt a cool hand on his forehead.

"You have a fever." Sam's voice was low, a shadow of its normal volume and twice the intensity.

Dean sighed softly and slapped his hand against the mattress. He blinked his eyes and tried to focus on Sam's face. "Sam, what's going on?"

Sam narrowed his eyes and gazed at him appraisingly. "You don't remember?"

"I remember the voodoo priestess, her tea, your tea, something about a ritual and that's about it," Dean said. He sat up and cradled his head in his hands. "Care to fill me in on the rest?"

"Care to tell me why you were running around without your pants on?" A small smile teased Sam's lips before quickly disappearing.

"Yeah, that's one of those things I'm a little fuzzy on," Dean admitted. He didn't like being out of control and he didn't like not knowing exactly what had happened. It made it that much more difficult to protect Sam, defend himself or defeat evil. He reached down for his jeans and decided that the best time to get his feet into his pants was while he was already down there. It took three tries, but he finally got his feet through the right holes and pulled his jeans up to his knees. Well, he was almost dressed at least.

Sam stood and turned to sit on the bed across from Dean. He stared at his folded hands. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"There's not enough time to figure out an antidote for the tea Marie gave you and the ritual…" Sam's voice trailed off.

There were times it scared Dean how well his little brother knew him. Sam understood he needed to hear the truth. It made Dean wonder what else Sam knew about how he really felt, but he dismissed the thought. He could keep his true fears hidden even from his well-meaning and annoyingly persistent little brother.

"What about the ritual?" Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and swallowed hard. His stomach flipped several times and the pressure in his head reached astronomical proportions. He was willing to bet this was close to how Sam felt when he had one of his killer headaches.

"It requires a willing blood sacrifice." Sam's voice was a mere whisper, but to Dean's pounding head it reverberated loudly against his skull.

White spots sparkled in Dean's vision. He winced and squinted against the light. "I seem to remember something about that."

"Yeah, well, I came up bust on figuring out a way around it," Sam snapped. His fists were clenched tightly and Dean knew it was because Sam was angry at himself. "It has to be you and it has to be within the next two hours."

"At the beach." Confusion swirled in Dean's head as recent events mingled with each other and formed Pollock paintings in his mind. "I think that's why I was looking for you. The sacrifice needs to be offered to the ocean as a cleansing for the one who was wronged."

"Dean, it's not just offered, it's a blood sacrifice." Sam voice sounded strangled; failure etched into every word. "You have to die to break the spell."

Dean wanted to tell Sam that it would be fine, that he trusted Sam to get him through this, but he couldn't focus on his brother's face. The swirling colors conspired against him here too. Hazel lines were drawn down Sam's face and a tight thin line of red cut across from cheek to cheek in three fine rows. Dean closed his eyes against the feeling of nausea surging in his stomach.

"Well that sucks," Dean said finally. He opened his eyes and nearly sighed in relief, all the colors were staying within the lines. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "You and that gigantor brain of yours have an idea though, don't you?" It wasn't a question. Dean could see the answer on his brother's face. Sam had an idea, but not one that made him happy.

"Yeah." Sam clenched his fists and relaxed them several times. "I do have one, but it's risky and I don't like it."

"But, it would work?" Dean asked, his eyes searching Sam's face for the truth. Sam could lie to other people even if he didn't like it. He could pull off the necessary scam or undercover story but when it came to lying to Dean, Sam was pathetically inept, or rather, he had been. Sam seemed to be getting better at it all the time.

"I think so." Sam's eyes conveyed his sincerity. "But there's no guarantee and it's pretty much cheating."

"We're hustling a Voodoo priestess?" Dean swallowed back the chuckle of hysteria he felt bubbling in his throat. Things couldn't get much worse. Oh wait, they could. His little brother could be trying to hustle the cross-roads demon. He banished the thought to the dark recesses of his mind as soon as it appeared; there was no use borrowing trouble. "Hey, I'm sure you've got it figured out."

Sam snorted an angry sound. "Right, sure."

Dean bent his head and rubbed his temples. He knew what he had to do. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach and in the driving force running through his mind. He needed to go to the ocean. Everything would be alright once they got to the ocean.

A wave of dizziness overtook him and he fought against the nausea building in stomach. Dean looked up. The colors of objects trailed along as his eyes swept the room leaving rainbows of trails. "Not again," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"Dean?"

"Sammy, I think I'm gonna be sick."

A loud, clashing sound filled his ears and Dean moaned. He fell back onto the bed and curled into a ball. If he didn't get sick it would be a miracle. Without warning the churning in his stomach shot out his throat in a burning line.

"Aw, Dean," Sam said, his voice sounded close. Seconds later a cool washcloth was placed on the back of Dean's neck and he felt the tension in muscles receding and the nausea abated just a bit. He heard the rustle of bed sheets as Sam folded the coverings to cover the mess.

"Sam, we have to go," Dean insisted weakly. "It's time to go."

"I know." Dean felt Sam's hand on his forehead, then his head, before his brother stepped away from the bed. "I'm going to pack the car. Try not to move around too much."

"That's not a problem," Dean groaned.

"I thought that before."

Dean waved his arm at Sam to dismiss him. "Go."

"I'll be right back."

Dean waved at Sam again. He drifted off to an uneasy sleep to the sounds of his brother adeptly packing the Impala.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

It hadn't taken long to pack the car, but getting a sleepy, sick Dean dressed and out the door had taken more effort. Sam tapped the steering wheel with nervous anxiety and jiggled his left leg in the small space he had in the driver's seat. He hated this plan and he hated having to help Marie's spirit. She had backed him into a corner and he was tired of feeling he didn't have choices.

He pulled into the hospital parking lot and headed straight for the emergency room. It was the right decision, he needed help for Dean. Sam parked the Impala in the shadows alongside the building. It was a perfect spot. It would be too dark for the cameras to get a clean picture, but he could keep an eye on Dean.

Sam reached across Dean who was slumped against the window and pushed down the lock on Dean's side of the car. Dean stirred and blinked owlishly at him. "Sam?"

"Wait here." Sam was pleasantly surprised when Dean nodded his head in the affirmative and settled back down to sleep. He slipped out of the car and gently closed the door with a quiet click.

Sam scanned the lot checking for anyone who may be watching them. Traffic, people and commotion were everywhere, but no one was looking his direction; a lucky break in a string of incredibly bad ones. He drew his lock pick set out of his back pocket and unzipped it. He removed the two tools he would need and re-pocketed the set.

Sam crouched low behind a lone ambulance in a fleet of emergency vehicles. The lock clicked obediently and within moments Sam was climbing in the back of the vehicle. He frantically searched through the medical equipment searching for the device he needed. "This is taking too long," he huffed quietly to himself. In reality he knew it had been only seconds, but every wasted moment felt like an eternity. "Too damn long. Come on, come on, come on, think Sam."

He felt like an idiot when he realized where the defibrillator would most likely be stored. Sam spun around and, as expected, spotted the box secured near the door. He removed the straps and tucked the device under his arm. Sam pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jeans and tossed it on the gurney before slipping out of the ambulance and back to his brother.

For a horrifying moment Sam thought Dean had disappeared again when the front seat was empty. Sam opened the door, panic rising in his chest. He didn't have time to search for Dean again. He knelt on the front seat and twisted around to peer into the darkness of the back seat.

"Dean?"

"Wha?" Dean started awake when Sam called. He held up his arm and waggled his fingers in acknowledgement.

"Dean, I thought you'd wandered off again." Sam shut the door and started the engine. "Why are you in the back seat anyway?"

"Didn't feel good. Wanted to lie down." Dean's arms dropped back to the seat with a thump. "Didn't help though."

"Don't worry; we're going to fix that." Sam backed out of the slip and drove out of the hospital lot. Within moments they were on the freeway which was blessedly low traffic in the early morning hours.

Sam gasped when Dean sat bolt upright and filled the rearview mirror. "You hear that?"

"What?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

"The knocking," Dean said with a frown. "You didn't put any of that damn ethanol gas in my car, did you?"

"I haven't put any gas in your car," Sam defended. He made eye contact with Dean in the mirror. "And I don't hear anything."

Dean blew Sam a raspberry. "Like that means anything." He flopped back down in the seat with an exaggerated sigh. "You wouldn't know engine pinging from bearings knocking."

"Dean, I don't think the car is our main concern right now." Sam didn't try to defend himself against Dean's accusation.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that," Dean said with deadly calmness in his voice.

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but was saved the trouble when an uncharacteristic warbling snore came from the back seat. In an ironic twist Sam wanted to turn on the radio and blast his brother's rock music in a volume that would make his ears bleed. Not only was he bone-tired, but he needed something to take his mind off the ritual, the deal, the minutes ticking away on Dean's final year while they were sucked into hunts with ghosts who thought they were pirates and voodoo curses.

As Sam slowed the car to a stop in the lot at the beach, Dean mumbled low. "It's time."

"It's time," Sam agreed. He snagged the borrowed equipment off the seat and reached around back to shake Dean's leg. "We need to go, Dean."

"Yep," Dean said. He slowly sat up and blinked lazily. "It's time."

"We're going to be smart about this," Sam explained reaching around and grabbing the duffel off the floorboards of the rear seat. "I'm going to start the ritual, but you don't move until she gives me the ritual, tea or limerick to save you."

Dean frowned. "You're not the boss of me, Sammy."

"This time, I am." Sam exited the car and opened the back door, tugging on Dean's leg. "Let's go, Dean."

Dean scooted across the seat until he could grasp Sam's outstretched hand. Sam yanked Dean out of the car and helped him stand. Dean swayed and paled. "Are you going to be sick?"

"Nope." Dean's eyes rolled up in his head. He fell forward and Sam caught him with one arm, his shoulder screaming in protest.

"Dean!" Hot vomit landed on Sam's shoes and soaked into his jeans.

"Yes," Dean amended, his knees sagging.

Sam groaned, his shoulder burning under the extra burden, but he didn't lose his grip on his brother. "I got you, Dean."

"I know." Dean made eye contact with him and Sam realized his brother understood. In spite of the tea, no matter how deeply Dean hid his own fears and although Dean couldn't try to squirm out of the deal he understood how Sam felt.

Sam adjusted Dean's weight and together they stumbled over the sand in the dark. Sam gently lowered Dean to the ground and set the duffel beside him. He kept one eye trained on Dean and one at the task at hand. Sam dug a shallow hole in the wet sand and ground the pillar candle into the depression.

He lit the candle and watched the flame struggle against the soft ocean breeze until it sparked brightly to life. Sam felt around in the duffel for the small glass bottle of perfumed oil. Anointing the candle with oil, Sam began to recite the ritual prayer.

Dean moaned and Sam paused briefly to check on him. Dean sat slumped in the sand, his arms wrapped around his legs with his head resting on his knees. Sam started the prayer again. He sprinkled rosemary on the candle and around it in the sand. Sam brushed sand and rosemary off his hands onto his jeans while he finished the prayer.

A gust of wind drew Sam's attention farther up the beach and to the spirit gliding towards him across the sand. Collette drew close and Sam could sense the change in her already. Her colorful skirt had faded to grays and whites. Two pale orbs bobbed beside her. "Collette," Sam acknowledged.

"Samuel," her voice was softer too, some of the anger having bled out.

Sam caught sight of Dean standing and walking towards the water in his peripheral vision. "Dean, wait!" he called, but Dean didn't stop.

He started to rise to go after his brother when a cold hand on his injured shoulder stopped him. Sam looked up at Collette and she moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "Dean is performing his role in the ritual, mon amie, as you must."

Sam reluctantly tore his gaze away from his brother and back to Collette. "Actually, I'd like to make a deal."

…………………………………………………………….**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

AN: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I really had been writing diligently on it and I just happened to be working on the scene in the alley when the finale started. I couldn't bring myself to refocus on Dean's deal after the show was over and it wasn't until I was poked earlier this week that I decided to get over it and get back to writing. Thanks for your patience. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Dead Men Tell No Tales**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever. There. I said it.

**Beta'd: **By Muffy Morrigan. Thanks for your help with this one girl. If you hadn't been so darn pushy – well, let's just say, you saved me!

Wysawyg is off on holiday and having way more fun than me. Not fair!

**Time Line: **Between _TKAA _and _BDaBR, _Season three.

_This chapter is a bit long, but I thought, better long than in two pieces! Hope you agree._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_A gust of wind drew Sam's attention farther up the beach and to the spirit gliding towards him across the sand. Collette drew close and Sam could sense the change in her already. Her colorful skirt had faded to grays and whites. Two pale orbs bobbed beside her. "Collette," Sam acknowledged._

"_Samuel," her voice was softer too, some of the anger having bled out. _

_Sam caught sight of Dean standing and walking towards the water in his peripheral vision. "Dean, wait!" he called, but Dean didn't stop. _

_He started to rise to go after his brother when a cold hand on his injured shoulder stopped him. Sam looked up at Collette and she moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "Dean is performing his role in the ritual, mon ami, as you must."_

_Sam reluctantly tore his gaze away from his brother and back to Collette. "Actually, I'd like to make a deal."_

…….……………………………………………………**Chapter Seven**……………………………………………………….

Collette smiled sadly at Sam and shook her head. "I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Why?" Sam demanded angrily. "All the ritual requires is a _willing _sacrifice. I'm willing." He glanced in Dean's direction and felt his anxiety notch up a level. His big brother was only fifty feet or so from the water.

"It would not have mattered who was chosen," Collette explained. "But the fact remains that Dean was." Apparently considering the matter closed, Collette drift-walked away from Sam following on Dean's heels towards the ocean.

Sam leapt to his feet and sprinted through the sand. "Hey!" He caught up to Dean and grabbed his brother by the collar. A delicate ocean breeze tickled his hair and a wave crashed on the beach. He wrapped long fingers around Dean's upper arm and held out his other hand palm flat between them and the spirit of the voodoo priestess. "No decision is irreversible. You don't need Dean."

"You don't need Dean either," Collette said quietly, her cold hand grasping Sam's outstretched hand and intertwining their fingers.

Sam shook his head in denial, his words came out choked. "He's my brother," the unspoken love for his brother evident in his tone.

"Of course," Collette said, her lilt softly accenting her speech. "He's your brother and you can't imagine life without him, but you don't need him. You want him to stay. Both of you are capable of surviving without the other."

Sam tugged on his hand, trying to free it from Collette's grip, but the spirit was stronger in death than she had been in life. "You're wrong."

"There is a difference between surviving and living," Collette conceded. "Right now, neither of you are doing either very well."

Sam felt an irrational anger rise in his chest. "You don't know me or Dean," he snarled, yanking his hand free.

"I know he gave his soul so that you might live," Collette fired back. "And you would hurt him by throwing that away."

"I can't let him go to hell for me," Sam said. "I can't. I won't. If he dies now, he's going to hell."

"And if you die to save him from hell now, he still goes to hell later." Collette faded brown eyes sparkled with compassion. "And you would be dead. What would that leave him for his sacrifice?"

"There has to be another way," Sam said, shaking his head in denial. "I need time."

Dean pulled against Sam's grip in an attempt to free himself and walk into the salty waves. The roar of the water crashing into the shore and the mist from the waves hit the brothers in a cold spray. Sam held tight to Dean's arm, unwilling to let his brother go.

"I need more time," Sam repeated. He yelped in pain when Dean switched tactics and pulled hard on his injured shoulder. His fingers went numb when the ball joint bobbled in the socket before settling back in place. Dean slipped easily out of his grasp.

"Dean!"

The priestess' cool fingers lightly cupped Sam's face and his resolve momentarily wavered, his eyes locked with hers, and a chill flooded his body. His knees unhinged and impacted the gritty sand. "All the requirements have been fulfilled," she said.

"No," Sam whispered. He searched the dark waters and choppy waves for a sign of his brother. Dean was gone. "No!" the denial wrenched from his throat. Sam was on his feet, running for the ocean.

"Dean!"

Collette drifted by him in a cold breeze and the two orbs of light danced in a zigzagging pattern behind her. They whipped around Sam, obscuring his vision before darting ahead and dipping into the ocean.

"Thank you," Collette's soft lilt carried over the water. She waved to Sam and slowly sank into the ocean in the same spot the orbs had disappeared.

Sam's chest heaved with restrained panic and his sharp eyes scanned the sea. "Dean!"

He doubted he would be able to hear anything over the crashing waves, but he strained to listen. There was no response and a part of Sam knew that Dean had to be near death for the blood sacrifice to work its magic. The thought propelled him into action and he ran into the water.

The cold Pacific waters hugged his legs and tried to pull him under. "Dean!" The cresting waves played tricks on his eyes and he saw dark movements on the surface where there were none. "Dean!"

Sam glanced in the direction where Collette had disappeared beneath the murky depths. Hunch and instinct kicked into high gear and he started swimming. He didn't shout for his brother knowing Dean couldn't hear him while he was submerged in the ocean and he needed to save his breath. The salty water attacked him from above as it crashed into him and fought his forward progress.

Desperation drove him to act, but determination kept him from quitting. Tired and near panic, Sam slowed at the spot the spirits had disappeared and dove into the water. By all rights, the ocean current should have swept Dean away from him, or driven him deeper into its depths. In the dark water, Sam was blind. He had no reason to believe he could find Dean like this, but he did.

Sam's lungs tightened and his ears rang. He wouldn't be able to hold his breath much longer. He scissored his legs to increase his speed and slowly started blowing bubbles. When the air ran out, so would he.

He didn't graze the material of Dean's shirt or catch sight of a floating mass in the water, so he couldn't explain how he knew to dive lower, away from precious oxygen. His efforts were rewarded when searching fingers found Dean.

Even as the last of the bubbles left his nose, relief flooded Sam. He snagged the back of Dean's collar and kicked for the surface. He didn't register the extra weight hampering his return trip. Getting Dean out of the water and to the defibrillator were his only thoughts. Just when the need for air reached the point he could no longer fight the instinct to inhale, he broke the surface.

Sam gulped air in hard pants, pulling Dean to the surface and wrapping his weak arm around Dean's chest to keep his head above water. As soon as he could breath without gasping for air like a beached fish, Sam began swimming back to shore with a one-armed, cherry-picking, side-stroke.

His arms felt like heavy, leaden anchors. They pulled him down towards the ocean floor. A small gasp of relief escaped his lips when his toes touched the sandy bottom. Sam crawled onto the beach dragging Dean along with him. He crouched low on the wet sand, clammy cotton hugging his entire body and pulled his brother out of the water a few feet at a time.

He fell to his knees several times, but little by little Sam dragged Dean up the beach until they cleared the high tide markers. Sam released Dean's salt sticky shirt and moved his shaking fingers to Dean's neck.

At first he didn't feel anything, but then a thready, irregular couple of beats followed and then – nothing. "Don't do this to me," Sam begged. "Hold on."

He stood and ran in a slow motion, drunken fashion up the beach. The candle flame was extinguished and he had to search to find his bearings on the early morning beach. Tracing back their footsteps he literally stumbled upon the defibrillator and the duffel. Sand kicked up into his face when Sam slid to a stop on his knees.

Turning his head to the side, Sam spit grit out of his mouth. He dug a shallow hole and buried the candle into the sand, the very last step of the ritual was complete. Pushing himself up to standing, Sam flung the bag over his shoulder and sprinted back down towards the water and his brother.

He panted hard, his heart thumping madly in his chest more from fear than exertion. The dry sand gave easily under his pounding feet and he fought to keep a steady pace. He hit the wet sand and picked up speed using momentum and better traction to his advantage.

Sam narrowly avoided a face-plant into the beach when he collapsed next to Dean. He checked his brother's pulse again as he fought to catch his breath, hoping by some small miracle Dean's pulse would have steadied, his breathing returned.

Hopes dashed when his fingers failed to pick up a trace of life, he reached into the duffel with trembling hands blindly searching for his knife. He felt the familiar shape of his pocket knife and opened it. One smooth, quick motion later and Dean's shirt lay open.

The defibrillator case came next and Sam fumbled with the stubborn latch. He pounded once on the lid in frustration. "Open, damn it!" he shouted. This time the case opened easily and Sam pulled a flashlight out of the duffel and powered on the machine.

"Apply sensor pads," the feminine mechanical voice instructed. Sam ripped off the backing on one pad and placed it on Dean's chest following the onscreen directions. The second pad quickly followed and the defibrillator cheerfully chirped another response.

"Reading cardiac rhythm."

_Please, please, please._

"Reading."

_Please, Dean._

"Reading."

_Oh, God._

-0-0-0-0-0-

He floated, which surprised him. He always assumed the trip to hell would be more of jump out of plane without a parachute. A long, terrifying, high-speed drop with one hell of a hard landing, pun intended. This hypnotic dancing on a gentle breeze thing should have left him confused and apprehensive, but he felt euphoric and free.

Collette appeared, not as the colorful spirit he had seen on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and not as the pale spirit he saw on the beach. She appeared corporeal, her clothes a brilliant display of color. She danced and laughed as two yellow orbs of light flitted around her.

She caught sight of Dean and waved, her smile genuine and warm. He lifted his arm to return the wave and noted with some amusement that he didn't have one. It was more of a smoky white, arm-shaped mist than it was an appendage.

He sped up to follow Collette, intent on knowing where she was headed. The yellow orbs intensified in brightness, temporarily blinding Dean. When the light faded, two people stood where the balls of swirling particles had hovered; one, a paunchy middle-aged man and the other a rather ordinary looking older woman.

Somehow, Dean knew the man was Charlie and he stopped following for a minute, trying to place who exactly Charlie was and why he knew him. If he hadn't stopped he might not have heard the faint call from the darkness behind him. He didn't have to pause to figure out how he knew that voice. He'd recognize his little brother anywhere.

_Dean, fight._

Dean spun around in a tight circle, unable to resist that particular pleading tone in Sammy's voice. It got him every time, not that he'd ever let his brother know it. He concentrated on the sound, tried to pinpoint where Sam might be hiding and what danger lurked nearby.

_Don't leave me. _

"Sam, where are you?" he shouted back into the darkness beyond him. He could see faint shadows, but nothing distinct. Sam didn't answer and Dean took off at a trot, the fact that he seemed to have limbs now didn't faze him.

_I need more time._

The quality of Sam's voice changed from the pleading, 'Dean fix this' tone to a note of desperation. This moment, this was why he kept trying to push Sam away, to distance himself from his brother. So that when the time came Sam would be ready for it and let him go. He almost turned back to follow Collette until Sam played his ace in the hole.

_Please, Dean._

Dean hung his head and sighed. How they'd made it out of childhood without Sammy owning everything Dean had was a miracle. That particular tone and those exact words never failed to work. Dean guessed it was because Sam was smart enough to only use it when he really, really meant it or Dean was good at hiding how well it worked. Yeah, that had to be it.

Whatever the reason, Dean could no more resist it now than he ever could. "I'm coming, Sam," he said, resigned. He would have to work on preparing Sam for his death later because right now, when he could still respond to Sam, he had to.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Normal rhythm achieved. Continue to monitor patient."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced up and down the beach, amazed they had not been spotted by anyone yet. The early morning sun colored the eastern sky a light pink, barely visible through the palm trees. He could see the dark shadow of the Impala waiting for them in the parking lot and it comforted him just a little.

The pounding ocean waves that seemed like a living, menacing, evil thing when they'd tried to swallow his brother whole, now created a white noise to help soothe his frazzled nerves. Sam gripped Dean's fingers tightly in his own, willing Dean to open his eyes. He didn't care if Dean said anything, if he glared, if he cried, if he woke up possessed or stoned on voodoo tea, as long as he woke up. As long as Dean was alive, Sam could handle everything else.

He tossed everything into the duffel save the defibrillator. He wanted, _needed_, the added reassurance that Dean's heart was beating regularly instead of the spasmodic, ineffectual quivering it had been doing earlier. He told himself once Dean opened his eyes, he'd unhook the machine and bundle up his brother, get him off the beach. The truth was, however, that if he could figure out how to get Dean to agree to wear it permanently, he would.

It had been close, too damn close. Dean couldn't survive many more like this and Sam knew it would break him along with it. Mom, Jess, Dad had all been hard in their own ways, had changed him or their family, and had tapped at Sam's inner strength. But Dean, Dean would be different. The one constant in his life, the one person that believed in him, the one person he believed in would be gone.

He knew Dean was scared, no matter how cavalier he appeared to be, no matter how hard he pushed, Sam new it was a defensive mechanism. Dean joked off what he could and what he couldn't he denied. They were smack in the middle of some extreme denial at the moment.

Not that Sam could blame him, but he wasn't about to stop fighting just because Dean didn't want to admit that Sam couldn't live with him dead – and that if Dean was being honest with himself, he didn't want to die and go to hell either.

Dean's eyelids fluttered and a low moan escaped dry lips, immediately followed by a coughing fit. He coughed and coughed, spitting foul smelling water onto the ground. "Dean?" Sam asked, after he quieted.

"S'm?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, his relief bubbling over into a hint of sobbing laughter. "It's me."

"It over?" A twitch of Dean's fingers and a head bobble threw Sam over the top and he couldn't stop the puff of laughter.

"Yeah, Colette's gone and so is Charlie." In an attempt to ground himself as well as comfort his brother, Sam rubbed the top of Dean's hand with his thumb.

"Might need my hand back," Dean said with wry amusement.

"Maybe later," Sam replied, but despite his words he released his grip on Dean's fingers. He busied himself with removing the pads on Dean's chest instead.

"Ow!" Dean protested. He struggled to a half sitting position, propped on his elbows. Sam promptly shoved him back down to the ground.

"Lie still," Sam commanded.

"What is it?" Dean asked, his voice stronger. He tugged on the line leads attempting to gain a better look at them. Sam gently slapped his hand away.

"Leave them alone and lie still," Sam said, firmly. He removed the second pad and repacked the case.

"When'd you get so bossy?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"About the time you drank the poisoned tea, Socrates." Sam pushed his bangs out of his face and winced when the stitches in his scalp pulled tight. He turned back to look at Dean. "You think you can walk?"

"Been doing it a long time now, I think I can manage," Dean quipped. He narrowed his eyes and jerked his head in the direction of the case. "Seriously, Sam, what is that thing?"

"A defibrillator," he confessed with a mumble.

"You stole a defibrillator?" Dean asked, pride leaking through in his voice. "From a hospital?"

"An ambulance," Sam said with a disapproving frown. He laced an arm through Dean's and helped his brother to a sitting position. "I left a note."

Dean chuckled and quirked an eyebrow in Sam's direction. "A note? You stole an expensive piece of hospital equipment and you left a note?" The chuckle turned into a laugh.

"I told them I'd return it," Sam said in an attempt to defend himself. "Someone might need it and…" he trailed off when Dean's laugh degenerated into full blown case of hysterical laughter. He felt the corners of his lips twitch. "It isn't funny."

"Oh come on, it's a little funny," Dean gasped out between laughing fits. "My brother the I-owe-you-one-defibrillator bandit."

"Shut up," Sam said, hefting Dean to standing. He waited while Dean found his balance before prodding him into movement. "More walking, less talking."

"How about I just owe you one?" Dean suggested.

"Dean, shut up." A damning chuckle slipped past his tongue and he hung his head. He was totally screwed.

Dean only laughed in response and together they stumbled through the loose sand back towards the car. Sam hovered by Dean's elbow the entire way to the Impala. He could only shake his head in mild disbelief when Dean held up a hand in a silent request for the car keys.

"Not gonna happen." Sam grabbed Dean by his upraised arm and effortlessly steered him towards the passenger side.

"Sam."

"Dean, look. We're not having this conversation. Get in the car." By all evidence, Sam had hit the exact commanding tone necessary to force his big brother into compliance before he'd had the chance to think it over too much. Then again, it could just be Dean's brain was sluggish after everything he'd been through the last couple of days because he looked ready to collapse.

Whatever the reason, Dean obediently sat down in the passenger seat and Sam walked around the front of the car to follow suit on the driver's side. He started the car and glanced in Dean's direction before backing out of the parking spot. Dean's face was ashen and his breathing shallow.

"Dean, I'll make this as painless as possible for you, but we need a real hospital – no clinics."

"Sam, I'm fine," Dean insisted.

"You almost died. You stopped breathing and your heart wasn't beating so much as dancing a samba. You probably have salt water in your lungs and…" He stopped short when Dean held up his hand.

"Fine. If it gets you to calm down, I'll go." Sam wanted to protest and defend himself, but he didn't want to risk Dean changing his mind. "And he calls me a mother hen," Dean muttered.

"Good, fine," Sam said, ignoring Dean's mother hen comment. "Yes, it will make me feel better if you get checked out by medical professionals." Dean could complain and make fun of him all he wanted, as long as he got medical attention.

"And you can return that expensive medical equipment, Winona." Sam turned his head to glare at Dean, but his brother's head was again propped on the back of the seat and his eyes were closed.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said, turning his eyes back to the road. A light chuckle was Dean's only response.

Several minutes passed in silence and then Dean started sniffing the air. He sat up abruptly and furrowed his brow, turning to look accusingly at Sam. "Dude, you stink."

Sam sighed heavily. Apparently, bathing in ocean water with his clothes on hadn't erased all of the night's events from his jeans. "That's because you puked on me," he said, punctuating his statement with another sigh.

Dean nodded and laid his head against the back of the seat once more. "Better than the car," he quipped. Half-drowned or not, possessed, poisoned or nearly dead that statement deserved a flick on the ear. So, Sam gave one to him.

"Ow," Dean protested half-heartedly, but he didn't open his eyes. "Just keep both hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road, Sam."

"Whatever, Dean."

Fifteen minutes later Sam pulled the Impala to a stop outside the emergency room of the same hospital he had stolen the defibrillator out of the ambulance. One tire sat perched on a concrete border and the car leaned crazily to the side. Two paramedics rushed out the door with a gurney.

"He had an allergic reaction to some tea he drank and wandered out of his condo. I had to fish him out of the ocean and revive him, he wasn't breathing," Sam said, cringing inwardly at the flimsy excuse. Dean always was better at impromptu cover stories.

He heard Dean mildly protesting the gurney, but the hospital staff was efficient and experienced and whisked him inside without delay. Sam couldn't tear his gaze from the door where Dean had disappeared until a light rap on the frame of his rolled down window caught his attention.

"Sir, I need you to move your car," a hospital security guard said. He pointed to his left. "There're a few open spaces in the closest lot. When you get back, just ask the pink ladies where your friend is and they'll tell you."

"He's my brother," Sam corrected, but the security guard had already moved away.

Reluctantly, Sam pulled the car away from the doors, parked it and walked back to the emergency room. In the end, this was better, he could actually go inside and talk to the staff, but an irrational part of him was afraid that unless he kept an eye on Dean at all times that something bad was going to happen to him.

The warmer air of the hospital hit Sam as he walked inside. He looked around for the pink ladies, but in all the confusion of the busy emergency area, he couldn't spot them. Sam felt a light tug on his cold, wet shirt and looked down – way down. An extremely diminutive lady in a pink smock stood beside him.

"What happened to you sweetie?" she asked. Her dark brown eyes reflected concern.

"What? Oh, no, it's my brother," Sam said. "Dean…" Sam wasn't sure what last name Dean would have given the hospital. There was no telling at this point.

"Tall fella, like yourself?" the lady asked, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Soaking wet, nearly drown?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean."

The elderly woman craned her neck and appraised Sam's appearance. "Let's get you some scrubs to wear, sweetie, and then I'll see what I can find out."

"I'm fine, really," Sam said. He glanced about the room hoping to catch sight of his brother. "I just need to find Dean."

"No offense, kiddo," Margaret said, patting Sam on the arm. "But you're not exactly at your dandy finest." She wrinkled her nose and Sam got the hint. He felt the heat crawl up his neck.

"Yeah, okay." Sam followed Margaret to a small closet filled with various linens and hospital garb. She looked from Sam's feet, up to his face and returned to his feet. She began rifling through the closet, checking the sizes on the garments and discarding them one by one.

"Tall drink of water," she mumbled into a stack of clothes. Sam fidgeted from one foot to the other, suddenly very self-conscious in the confined space. She pulled out a pair of green scrub pants and a multi-colored, zigzag patterned shirt and waved them in Sam's face. "Ah-ha, I knew I'd find something for you!"

Sam gave her a half-hearted smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Margaret said, handing the scrubs to Sam. "You change and by the time you're done I'm sure I'll have rounded up some information about your friend."

"Brother." Sam met her gaze and she nodded in understanding.

"Brother Dean," she said. She waggled her finger at him. "Now, don't wander off."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam replied. He shut the door and started peeling off his cold, wet clothes.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean had allowed them to draw blood and hook him up to countless monitors; he'd tolerated the IV and grudgingly acquiesced to the nasal canula. He'd been more than patient throughout the entire ordeal, but he was done.

"I'm fine. You've done your job, I've been a good little patient, now cut me loose and I'll get out of your hair." The staff ignored him. The nurse continued to bustle about, tweaking the settings on the monitors and adjusting the flow on his IV

"I don't usually allow that until the second date," Dean smirked when the nurse leaned over him. She tossed him a withering look. "Okay, I'm lying," Dean confessed. "It's totally fine on the first date."

Doctor Simon looked up from his chart. "Dean, we're admitting you. I'd like to keep you here for observation overnight. There's always risk involved in near drowning experiences and while you seem to be fine, your O2 levels were a little low."

Dean opened his mouth and Sam's voice over-rode his response. "He'll stay."

The doctor seemed to take Sam's words as the final decision, turning to face him instead. "I have him on a broad spectrum antibiotic drip and oxygen to ease the strain on his lungs."

Sam nodded to the doctor and glanced in his direction. Dean didn't like the pinched expression on his little brother's face or the worry lines that were starting to appear on his forehead. The kid was only twenty-four, he shouldn't look like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.

God help him, he had done this, but he couldn't regret it. Sam was alive. It was worth the price. "What about the risks of a secondary drowning?" Sam asked, his eyes had taken on the intense glint they had when he was analyzing a problem.

"That is always a risk factor, but amazingly, his lungs sound clear," Dr. Simon explained. "I'd like him to stay overnight as a precautionary measure. He's a very lucky man."

Sam nodded and looked at Dean for confirmation. "You'll stay?" It was part demand, part question.

Exhaustion tore at Dean's reserves and he did the easiest thing possible. He agreed. "Until tomorrow morning, that's it."

Sam squeezed past the doctor effectively dismissing him. He flopped into the small metal chair beside Dean's bed, knees curling half-way to his chest. "You were lucky to have a defibrillator available." Sam's eyes bugged out of his head and Dean rolled his eyes. Obviously, Sam hadn't been counting on the medical professionals, as he put it, noticing the tell-tale signs of the machine in use.

"I told you it would come in handy after Dad had his heart attack," Dean fabricated with practiced ease.

"Yeah," Sam rasped out. "You were right." Sam's hazel eyes bore into his and Dean knew what his brother wasn't saying. There was a load of guilt bouncing around in Sam's head and more than a little fear – for him.

"Very good thing," Dr. Simon restated. "I'll send one of the nurses by later to get your breakfast order." With those final words, the doctor spun on his heel and left the brothers alone in Dean's room.

"Think we should go?" Sam asked quietly, his fingers finding the edge of Dean's sheet.

"Nah," Dean replied. "He's suspicious, but he doesn't have any evidence." He yawned and patted Sam on the shoulder, not missing the wince of discomfort. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"Nothing," Sam said, sticking to the most oft repeated Winchester lie they had. "I'm fine." Dean waited, watching as Sam grew increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Popped my shoulder, it's fine."

Sam tightened his grip on the sheet and steadfastly refused to make eye contact with Dean. "Spit it out, Sam."

"You almost died," Sam said, his voice a fraction of its normal volume. "You were possessed by a spirit, drank poisoned tea and drowned. I almost lost you."

Dean sifted through a hundred different responses. Most of them the automatic reflex, reassure Sam responses, but he found the one he needed. "You should have let me go."

Sam stood with enough force to send the folding chair skittering partway across the room. He strode to the doorway and stopped. He spoke with his back still facing Dean. "I can't. You can't ask me to."

"I'm not," Dean said, his tone firm. Sam turned back around and the emotion welling in his eyes nearly undid all of Dean's resolve. "I'm telling you. When the time comes, you have to let me go."

Sam's jaw muscles twitched with the effort of restraint. He walked back over to Dean, slid the chair back over to Dean's bed and took a seat. When he spoke, his voice was low. "It wasn't time."

"But it will be." Dean wasn't about to let it drop. Sam had to understand, he had to adapt to the idea because Dean wasn't going to let him do something stupid and blow the whole deal.

Sam didn't say the words, but Dean could see the truth just as plainly. Sam was working on a way to get Dean out of the deal. One that wouldn't nullify it, just a loophole they could use. As long as Sam didn't confess his actions, Dean could choose to ignore them. "Maybe not," was all Sam said and Dean let the subject drop.

He settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. There was a moment of peaceful silence and just as he felt his mind drifting off he quipped, "Did you leave a note when you lifted those awesome scrubs and booty-thingies?"

He didn't catch the words, but he heard the grumbled retort before his mind slipped into the waiting oblivion of sleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam knew the moment Dean caved to the urge to sleep. The crinkles of amusement around his brother's eyes smoothed and the last vestiges of pain slipped off the mask Dean wore on a regular basis these days. Dean was hiding the truth from him, and Sam wanted to slug him for it.

He wasn't a kid any more and while he still needed his big brother, it wasn't to protect him from the hard truth. It was to be his friend and brother; equal partners during a hunt, both at times taking the lead and standing in the line of fire. Dean's natural, protective streak wasn't squelched, but he no longer seemed to feel his first job on the hunt was to watch out for Sam. It was to hunt and watch Sam's back. Sam cherished the subtle difference for the gift it was.

Until Sam's own death had changed it all. Dean had sold his _soul _for Sam and it had put an odd rift between them that Sam couldn't fully explain. Dean didn't seem to blame Sam for letting his guard down during the fight with Jake, and yet, there were times Dean locked himself away that Sam just didn't understand. Sometimes, Sam wished fervently that Dean had left him dead. He had died without succumbing to the evil his dad had been afraid of and Dean, well, Dean hadn't been slated for hell.

Not that Dean seemed particularly concerned with his own impending death and scheduled trip to hell. Of course, Sam knew that was a lie. But Dean alternatively pulled Sam closer with concerned big brother ease and pushed him away with smart ass deflection. It left Sam questioning how well he really could read his brother, or if Dean did resent him after all.

Sam yawned wide, eyes watering. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. The sleepless hours of research were catching up to him. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. The monitors attached to Dean beeped in syncopated harmony to the pounding in Sam's head. Once again, they'd defied the odds which meant they may have been screwed in the process, but the job got done.

As much as Dean needed sleep, hell as much as Sam needed sleep, he needed to talk more. "Dean?" Nothing. Not a rustle of sheets or a tick of response on Dean's face. "Dean," Sam said, louder this time. Dean slept on, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a quiet reassurance that he was okay. Sam shook his head. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered. Nothing was so important it couldn't wait for Dean to get some rest.

Sam leaned forward and hooked three fingers on Dean's gown, the other arm serving as a pillow for his head. He'd just rest for awhile and talk to Dean later. That is, if his brother let him talk about anything of consequence. Emotional, soul-bearing talks may have sent Dean running for cover in the past, but these days something as seemingly innocent as a discussion about hunting could shut Dean down. Sam didn't see many of the conversational land mines until it was too late.

He opened his eyes and looked around the small hospital room. Everything was fine, no one was here, Dean was safe. He could sleep.

-0-0-

Sam awoke with a start to the sound of metal scraping metal. He jumped to his feet and stood between Dean and the door. A nurse appeared from behind the curtain, her wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare an indication of how crazy he must look.

"I, I came to check his vitals and deliver lunch," the nurse stammered.

Sam checked his watch. Twelve-thirty, they had slept through breakfast. He stepped to the side and flashed her a smile. She didn't smile in return. She walked by, giving him a wide berth. He caught her name tag on her way past him.

"Jen, do you know where I could get a cup of coffee?" Sam asked. He didn't have any intention of actually leaving Dean until he woke, but it seemed like a decent ice-breaker.

She didn't release her hold on Dean's wrist, but she offered Sam a small smile. "You could take your chances with the cafeteria," Jen suggested. She looked at Sam starting at his booty covered feet and finishing at his psychedelic scrub shirt. Her lips quivered with the effort of restrained laughter. "Or maybe some very sympathetic and caring nurse will take pity on the death of your fashion sense and order you an espresso from the stand at the corner on her break."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Sam protested. "Cafeteria coffee is fine."

"It's no big deal," Jen insisted, placing a hand on Sam's arm. "I'd be going anyway."

"Thanks." Sam smiled and took a seat in the folding chair.

This time, Jen returned his smile. She sidled between Sam and Dean's bed, dropping a hand on his shoulder on the way out. "I'll be back in thirty. See if you can get him to eat."

"If Dean won't eat, there's definitely something wrong." He lifted the lid on the plate of food on the tray. The plate contained pale fish, overcooked vegetables and runny mashed potatoes. Sam hastily replaced the lid. "Or not."

Jen laughed lightly. "We're more well-known for our medical care than our food," she admitted. "Be back soon."

Sam nodded his head in response to Jen's finger waggle. He twisted on the chair in an attempt to get comfortable. "Are you done being clueless?" Dean rasped.

"How long have you been awake?" Sam asked, his brow creasing in accusation.

"Long enough to realize you seriously need help with women, Sam." Dean opened his eyes a crack, moaned and closed them again.

"You could have said something," Sam said. He stood and closed the blinds, cutting the light in the room by half.

"Thanks," Dean said. He opened his eyes and nodded towards the blinds. "Hey, I wasn't going to salt your game." He cautiously lifted the lid on the plate, grimaced and replaced it. "I can't believe that's the kind of stuff they feed people who are already sick."

"Just eat it," Sam said. His eyes took on a mischievous glint. "And if you finish it all, I'll sneak out and get you a burger for dinner."

Dean glared at Sam's tone, but zeroed in on the bribe. He pointed a finger at Sam. "I'm holding you to that."

Sam laughed. "Done."

Dean lifted the lid again. Sam noticed Dean's hand trembled a little. He took the lid from Dean, but didn't comment. He watched as Dean shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and took note of how pale his big brother was. "Dean?"

Dean looked up at Sam and raised an eyebrow in question. "What?"

"Do you remember what we talked about in Oregon?" Sam asked. "You promised you'd be careful, that you'd give me this year."

"You're holding me responsible for this?" Dean asked, his hackles rising. "I don't remember much of anything after we got on that ride."

"Not that," Sam said. He leaned closer to Dean, placing one hand on the bed. "You aren't responsible for what happened. You were possessed by a spirit and poisoned by a voodoo priestess."

Dean sighed. "Then I'm a little confused here, Sam. Just what exactly are you pissed at me about?" He set his fork down on the table. Dean twisted on the bed to face Sam and propped himself up further on one elbow.

"I, I just want you to care." Sam took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Now that Dean was awake and talking, Sam didn't know what to say or maybe it was that he didn't know how to say what he wanted.

Dean flopped back against the bed. "You know Sam, I changed my mind. I'm not really hungry. I think I'm going back to sleep. Why don't you leave and grab some shut eye?" Dean gave him an appraising look. "You look like crap."

"Don't," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything, Sam." Dean lay back down against the pillow. "I'm tired. Almost drowning has a tendency to do that."

Sam felt the hot burn of tears behind his eyes, but he wasn't about to let them appear. He forced them back. "I'll be back later."

Dean nodded his head in reply and turned slightly on his side to place his back to Sam, shutting him out. Sam swallowed convulsively. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder that elicited no response. Stuffing down his feelings of rejection, Sam quietly left Dean's room.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean heard the awkward, stilted conversation outside his door when Jen returned with Sam's coffee. The two of them chatted for a moment before Sam suggested they move down the hall and soon Dean couldn't even hear the familiar low rumble of his little brother's voice.

He sighed and rolled onto his back. He was starving. Cold, over-cooked fish and runny potatoes were better than nothing. He lifted his fork and had just taken a bite when the nurse walked into the room.

"Oh, sorry," Jen apologized. "Sam thought you were sleeping."

"Yeah, I sort of let him think that so he'd leave and get some rest," Dean said, the partial truth slipping easily off his tongue. He took a bite of fish and made a face. "Seriously? You have my real lunch around here somewhere, don't you?"

"I'm afraid not," Jen said, with a small laugh. She fluffed his pillows, checked his IV, the heart monitor, and his oxygen levels. "Maybe you should try to sleep," Jen suggested on her way out the door. "I'd hate for you to choke on that rubber sole."

Dean groaned. "I don't think I'm up to puns yet," he mock protested. He waggled his eyebrows at the brunette. "But for you I'm willing to suffer through it."

Jen turned to face him. She drew the curtain closed, an enigmatic grin plastered on her face. "Get some rest."

The soft squeak of Jen's shoes on tiled floor and Dean was alone again. He shifted on the bed and groaned. He really did ache. His muscles were sore and shaky, his throat dry, and his back was killing him. Whatever had gone on the last twenty-four hours, it had been hell on his body. Suddenly sleep didn't seem like a bad idea.

The only real problem that existed was he couldn't take his mind off his brother or the mysterious missing time from his life. Time was something he could ill afford to lose. He had less than one year. Three hundred and thirty-seven – make that, thirty-six days to do, well, anything.

There were a finite number of times he would be with a woman, drink beer and shoot pool with his brother or listen to his favorite songs. There were only so many evil sons of bitches he could bring down, a limited time to teach Sam how to hunt on his own, and a smattering of opportunities to follow up on all the things on his "before I die" list.

And this weight that had settled on his chest, it grew heavier by the day. Dean didn't know if it was guilt, responsibility, dread or just plain fear, but some days he thought it would crush him. Added to it was the haunted look Sam wore on his face whenever he thought Dean wasn't looking.

Dean's breath hitched. He quickly boxed his fears and shoved them into a corner. The box rattled and shook, the fears inside scratching loudly on the cardboard containing them. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep them at bay for long this time, but it would be enough for now. It would buy him time to fall asleep and hopefully, his emotional strength would return with his physical endurance.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply. With time-honed experience he evened out his breathing, relaxed his muscles and shut his mind down. Within the span of a few minutes, the last of Dean's resistance faded, allowing him to easily fall asleep.

-0-0-

He knew without opening his eyes that Sam was there. A quick check of his internal clock assured him that less than two hours had passed. Barely enough time for Sam to shower, change into real clothes and get back, his little brother hadn't slept.

The fingers around his tightened briefly before disappearing; leaving his sweaty hand cool and empty. "Dean?" A hesitant call, barely more than a whisper. God, Sam was killing him.

"I'm awake." No point in lying, Sam knew him as well as he knew Sam. Maybe if he didn't open his eyes he wouldn't have to feel Sam's pain on top of his own. Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Shining from the depths of Sam's hazels was the same grief Dean had felt nearly two months ago. He'd put that look in his brother's eyes.

Sam had dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes and while he may be able to brush it off as lack of sleep, Dean knew better. "I returned the defibrillator," Sam whispered conspiratorially, a small grin teasing his lips. "And the scrubs."

Dean caught the peace offering in the statement. "It's a good thing about the scrubs, now they were scary." Dean mock shuddered. "But, you need to sleep, Sam. We can leave tomorrow."

Sam nodded. "You do too. It's been a rough couple of days." Exhaustion and worry carved deep tracks in Sam's forehead. Sam turned so Dean could only see the profile of his face. He bowed his head and stared at his hands.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. Sam's head snapped up and over to Dean. He could see the unspoken question in his little brother's eyes. "I am sorry."

Sam's chest heaved as he took several deep breaths and emotion flitted across his face before it was gone. A neutral expression took over Sam's features. Dean recognized the new, tougher skin his brother had been trying on for size lately. As much as Dean didn't like to see the tight press of Sam's lips or the guarded look on his face, Sam would need this ability later. "Yeah, me too."

Dean lightly tugged on Sam's shirt sleeve, just enough to remind Sam he was still here. "I do care."

A small smile tugged one corner of Sam's mouth. "Thanks," Sam said, his voice husky.

"So, we're good?" Dean asked, searching Sam's face for the truth.

"We're good." Twin dimples poked Sam's cheeks when a smile ghosted across his face.

The brothers sat in silence for several minutes until Sam reached down for something on the floor. Dean heard the crinkling of paper seconds before the aroma of fresh hamburgers reached his nose. "Gimme," he demanded, reaching for Sam's arm.

Sam easily evaded Dean's grasp. "Only if you agree to let me drive tomorrow."

Dean glared at Sam. He wavered on indecision between the lure of hamburgers and the price of being a passenger in his own car. "Fine," he growled. "But only tomorrow."

"Deal." Sam tossed the bag to Dean.

Dean opened the bag and peered inside the bag, a large fries sat nestled between two cheeseburgers. He pulled out a burger, hastily unwrapped it and dug in greedily. "This is the best burger ever," Dean said between mouthfuls.

Sam chuckled, grabbing the remote from the table. "Everything tastes better when you're hungry." He turned on the television and flipped through the channels. One daytime soap opera after another flashed by until Sam found it. "Hey, Dean, look. Your show's on."

"Whazzat?" He looked up from his attack on the fries to see Oprah interviewing the guy from the 'Independence Day' talking about his new movie. Dean crumpled the burger wrapper and tossed it at Sam's head where it connected with a satisfying smack.

Sam's lips quirked in amusement, but he didn't tear his gaze from the television. "That the best you got?" he goaded.

Dean briefly considered the weapons at his disposal, an empty fry container, a box of tissues, or a plastic cup half full of water. He sighed. "Guess so."

Sam turned to him, his eyes wide with surprise. He puffed a half a laugh and turned back to the television. "You must still be tired." The amusement in Sam's voice had Dean returning the smile.

Sam leaned on Dean's bed, propping his head on his bent arm. "You'd be more comfortable in a bed, Sam." Only concern made it into Dean's voice this time. He wasn't dismissing his little brother from his room again.

"I'm good." Sam blinked heavily and yawned. By the commercial break Sam was asleep.

Dean eased the remote out of Sam's hand and placed it on the table. He pulled one of his pillows out from behind him and tucked it under Sam's drooping head. Sam immediately shifted in the chair and on the bed into a more comfortable position.

Dean scooted down on the bed and flipped on his side. He could see the door, the television and his brother's face from this angle. He allowed himself the luxury of watching Sammy sleep, until the stress lines faded and the frantic eye movements behind closed lids began. He'd lost his brother. For a whole day Sam had been gone, dead.

He ghosted a hand over Sam's hair, but didn't touch. Dean tucked one arm under his head, the other draped across his torso, his hand resting close to Sam. He closed his eyes. _Please don't hate me, Sammy. I had to do it. _As his mind drifted off to sleep, Dean felt Sam's fingers wrap around his arm and he knew.

Sam understood.

_Fin_

………………………………………………..…….….**Supernatural**……...………………………………………………

AN: Ha! I finished. Wait, no, I'm sorry it took me FIVE months to finish a seven chapter story. Lesson learned. Long shot: okay. Long shot, plus one-shots: okay. Long shot, plus long shot, plus one-shots, plus challenge fics: not so much.

Thank you for sticking with the story and your patience!


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